Chain Reaction
by Violet Rose Lily
Summary: A storm and English troops prevent the Sack of Rome causes the Pope to make an impulsive decision to grant King Henry's annulment and to give him his blessing to marry Anne Boleyn. This leads Anne to be secure as Henry's wife and accepted as Queen. But that does not mean her enemies are any less eager to see her fall, it only makes them more determined.
1. Revenge by Proxy

**For everyone who wishes to read my other stories please go to archiveofourown org /users/VioletRoseLily/works please put a . between own and org. (apparently fanfiction won't even let me do the parenthesis dot anymore).  
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* * *

_**February 28 1527**_

_**Rome**_

Pope Clement sipped his wine as he thanked God that the terrible calamity of the Holy City being captured was averted. Rome was safe from the Holy Roman Emperor's troops thanks to God's will and bad weather: a little of both perhaps. The few ships that had managed to land in Italy were met by the English troops sent over by King Henry and the Spanish ships were quickly commandeered by the English; as a show of gratitude, the Pope had sent the spoils of the tiny fleet back to England as he sent the Spanish and German soldiers back to their master while the generals and commanders were sent to England to be used as hostages.

Despite outwardly forgiving Emperor Charles, Clement was still outraged by his planned attack on Rome and was eager for a chance to get back at him. Although he spent many hours in penance, that sinful thought of his would not go away until a messenger from King Henry the Eighth was brought to him, carrying two requests from the English monarch, concerning his unhappy marriage to Queen Katherine of Aragon and his infatuation with Anne Boleyn.

While Clement never really paid any attention to rumors, he had heard something about a woman not following in her sister's footsteps and refusing to be the King's mistress. He also knew that Queen Katherine could no longer produced any children and the only living babe she had was a girl who could cause England to have another bloody civil war as it had happened when Empress Mathilda rose to the throne.

King Henry needed a son and if the request for a papal dispensation in order to marry a woman whose sister he had known carnally was any indication, it seemed that Anne Boleyn was the woman he desired to be his wife. Of course, the red-haired monarch willfully ignored the fact that if he had committed sin by marrying his brother's widow than by the same token Lady Boleyn was also off limits.

Despite the shakiness of his case, King Henry seemed certain the Pope would grant him the annulment and considering numerous monarchs before him had asked for annulments on less reasonable grounds and were still able to get their way, Clement was not surprised that he would think that. The only difference between King Henry and those royal men was the fact that his wife just so happened to be the aunt of the Holy Roman Emperor and the King of Spain who would not be happy to have his two relatives humiliated and tossed aside like they were nothing.

If Emperor Charles had successfully sacked Rome and held the Pope prisoner, Clement would have needed to find a way to appease the ruler of England without angering his captor. And quite truthfully, there was no reason why his predecessor's papal disposition for King Henry to marry his brother's widow would be null and void just because he suddenly decided he was living in sin. However, such technicalities could be ignored and Pope Clement was fully prepared to do so. After all, God had protected the Holy City from that ruthless Emperor by sending King Henry's troops to Italy's aid. Surely God would want to reward England for it's service by blessing her king with his long-sought after male heir.

And if Anne Boleyn could give birth to a son, Pope Clement would not want to delay the proceedings. God clearly wanted King Henry's Great Matter to finish with Katherine of Aragon's marriage being annulled. This really had nothing to do with the Holy Roman Emperor Charles or his blasted family and all to do with God's reward for England.

_Perhaps I should inform my niece that when she goes to France to wed King Francis' son, she should mention to her new father-in-law that if he feels that he was forced into marrying the Emperor's sister, he might have a case to end his unhappy marriage._

With that rather vindictive thought in mind, Pope Clement sat down at his desk to write two official bulls, trying to stamp out the sense of satisfaction he was feeling. Once he made the decision, there would be no turning back and surely no one would dare argue with God's representative on Earth.

* * *

_**March 9 1527**_

_**England**_

Cardinal Thomas Wolsey was normally unflappable and not the type to become overwhelmed with shock. But when he had received the Pope's answer to Henry's suit of annulment, he could not stop his jaw from dropping nor his eyes from widening as he read His Holiness's official decree.

_Although my predecessor, His Holiness Pope Julius II, did give a papal disposition to His Majesty King Henry, he had only done so because Infanta Catalina of Aragon had sworn that she had not laid with his late Highness Prince Arthur. In the Bible, it states that a man lying with his brother's wife will be heirless and the lack of male issue of King Henry proves that God Almighty did not approve of this union and so I, Pope Clement VII, do declare that the former disposition null and void and His Majesty King Henry the Eighth is a free man in the eyes of God and the Catholic Church and he is free to marry once more._

Clement had all but accused Queen Katherine of Aragon of being a liar and a whore. Wolsey shuddered as he thought of the proud Spanish Emperor's reaction once he learned of the Pope's declaration.

Hours and a few goblets of wine later, Wolsey realized that it mattered not what the Emperor thought or did; after all that was Clement's problem not theirs. What mattered was Henry had gotten what he wanted and God willing there would be a Prince of Wales by next year.

Even though he was weary of Henry's intended bride knowing that she had been coached by his enemies to speak against him, Wolsey could not help but feel elated that things were actually going better than he thought they would. Besides perhaps if he showed himself to support Anne Boleyn, he would be able to win her over or at the very least keep himself in Henry's good graces. That was another problem for another day. For now, he had to make haste to court so he could tell his master of the wonderful news.

"Boy, fetch me my horse! I must ride to Greenwich immediately!" he commanded his manservant, his thoughts racing. There was much to be done.

* * *

_**March 12 1527**_

King Henry was not at court when Wolsey arrived, instead he was at Hever spending time with Anne. He had specifically asked that no messenger disturb him so it wasn't until he returned to Greenwich when he learned that his Lord Chancellor had requested an audience immediately.

"Do you think it's about the annulment?" Anne wondered, only to feel silly seconds later as she knew that was a stupid question. What else would Wolsey want to speak to them about?

Henry smiled reassuringly at her as he could tell from the way her hands fidgeted in her lap that she was nervous. He took one of her hands in his, rubbing circles on her skin with his thumb, hoping to soothe her anxiety.

"I'm sure that His Holiness has read my arguments and he will see the justice of my suit," Henry told her assuredly, kissing each of her fingers. "We will be married soon, my love, do not worry."

"Forgive me, I spoke without thought," Anne said shaking her head in exasperation.

"No, no, I give you leave that we may always speak freely with each other, honestly, openly and with a true heart. For me, that is the true definition of love," Henry told her firmly, drawing her into his embrace. He was so sure that Wolsey would walk in soon with good news that he was already imagining their wedding day. "We will soon be man and wife, Anne and I want us to be nothing but honest to each other."

He almost closed the gap between them when Cardinal Wolsey was announced by the herald. With an annoyed groan, Henry nodded for the herald to let his chancellor in. Anne gave his cheek a peck before sitting back down, not even trying to pull her hand from his grasp.

When Wolsey entered, he bowed first to Henry but upon seeing Anne he quickly bowed to her as well- something that he had never done before. Anne could feel her heart thudding in her chest as she prayed that this signified what she thought it did. Wolsey did not seem surprised or affronted when he realized that she was there with Henry and unlike the last time, he did not wait for Henry to tell him that he could speak freely in front of her.

"Your Majesty, Lady Anne, I bring excellent news. His Holiness Pope Clement has agreed to the annulment," the Lord Chancellor announced, placing the Bull from Rome on the desk for the King to read.

Anne did not bother to examine the parchment herself, instead she studied Henry's face. Although they both knew that Wolsey wouldn't give them false hope if it weren't true, it just didn't seem real that their prayers had been answered so quickly. Could it really have been that easy? Could Henry really be free to marry her so they could be together and have many sons and daughters?

Henry let out a victorious shout before lifting Anne up and swinging her around.

"He has given us our blessing, sweetheart, we can get married right now if we wanted to!" Henry exclaimed delightedly, kissing Anne hungrily on the lips.

As deliriously happy as she was, unlike Henry, she had not forgotten the other person in the room so she pushed the red-haired monarch away and turned her head meaningfully to remind Henry of Wolsey who was pointedly looking away.

"Your Majesty, while I agree that this a wondrous occasion, I would caution you to not get married for two or three months- just so your people can digest this news properly," Wolsey hastily added the last part seeing that his master was about to object to the suggestion that they wait. "Not to mention there is the matter of the Princess Dowager and her daughter."

Henry flinched at the mention of Princess- no not princess- Mary. It wasn't her fault that she was born of a cursed union and yet it would be she who would lose the most. Perhaps after Anne and he had a son, he would give his daughter a title of her own that would hopefully make up for her downgraded position.

If either Anne or Wolsey saw his flinch, neither remarked on it and they instead merely waited for him to speak.

"I suppose you have a point, Thomas, for now I wish for the Pope's declaration to spread throughout England so my people know that they will be getting a new Queen by this spring," Henry commanded, hoping that the Pope's blessing would make the English people more receptive to Anne despite their love for Katherine. "Anne, perhaps you should return to your apartments; I'm sure your family will be eager to find out what's going on. I'll join you shortly."

He smiled slightly, thinking there would be much celebration in the Boleyn apartments, once they learned the news. He pressed a chaste kiss on the back of her hands before letting go of her hands and watching her as she left.

"Should I inform the Princess Dowager of what is going to happen?" Wolsey asked cautiously, sensing that the King was conflicted over making his daughter a bastard. This would not stop him from doing it but Wolsey would be careful not even to mention the eleven-year-old girl unless her father brought her up.

"No, I'll do that. In the meantime, I want you to make arrangements for my daughter to be brought back to court," Henry said, unsure what he would say to Mary when she arrived but he would do his best to assure her that despite what her mother might think, he did love her and would still be her loving papa. "As I have no Queen at the moment, the Princess Dowager is to be moved into different apartments, her household should be reduced and she is to give up the royal jewels."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

* * *

After his conversation with Wolsey was finished, Henry left his audience chamber and headed to his former wife's apartments.

Katherine was kneeling at her alter when Henry walked in. She had heard someone come in and when she realized it was her husband, she quickly got up to greet him. She froze when she saw his somber face, getting a feeling of déjà vu as he looked as he did when he came to tell her that he believed that their marriage was over. Dread chilled her veins.

"Husband, what is it?" she prompted, swallowing hard.

There was a flash of mild irritation on his face when she called him husband but when he spoke, his voice was gentle with a note of finality.

"His Holiness, in his infinite wisdom, has read my case for annulment and he has agreed with me that you are not my wife. He declared our marriage null and void. Furthermore, he has given me my blessing to remarry a bride of my choosing. I'm sorry, Katherine, but you are, as I've said before, my brother's widow and I was wrong to ever think otherwise," Henry said without a hint of sadness.

She had been married to him for nearly two decades and they had seven children even if only one had survived. And yet he characterized their once happy union as a mistake and labeled his daughter a bastard.

Her disgust at Henry's lack of empathy was overpowered by the horror at learning that Pope Clement, the leader of the Catholic Church, had apparently granted the annulment, allowing her and Mary to be displaced by the daughter of an earl who had merchant ancestors and little to no royal blood. It took all of Katherine's willpower not collapse into sobs. She merely sank back down onto her knees, her back towards the man she still loved, unable to look at him. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands in prayer, silently pleading with the Lord to let her know that this was just some error or nightmare.

Frustrated by Katherine's silence and the fact that she had just turned her back on him, Henry continued talking, his tone growing harsher. "I want you to pack your things. Lady Anne and I will be married soon and she will be the true Queen of England," he continued, growing angry as she continued to ignore him. "I have already ordered our daughter to leave Ludlow and her household will have to be disbanded as she is not a true princess."

"Yes, she is!" Katherine contradicted, her temper flaring at the mention of her daughter. "She comes from a long line of legitimate royalty, on my side at least. Your whore can have twenty sons and they will still be the children of a daughter of a mere earl with nothing but common blood in his veins."

Henry's eyes flashed. "You shall not speak of Anne that way. If anyone is the whore here, it's you, Katherine, for you did not come to my bed as a virgin despite your claims."

Katherine spun around and she stood up, her eyes blazing. "I have known no man but you. Besides if that really mattered to you, you wouldn't be marrying her as you slept with her sister. The only reason you are marrying that harlot is because you want a son. I wonder how long it will take for you to tire of her when she fails. Will you make her daughters bastards? Will you search for a third wife?"

With an angry roar Henry leapt at Katherine, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her, causing her to fear that he would hit her.

"SHUT UP!" he bellowed, digging his nails into her bare skin. When he saw her wince in pain, he let go of her and spoke to her in a deadly soft voice. "I will order your servants to pack your things for you and you are to leave the palace by tomorrow morning. You will not be allowed to return to court unless you are invited."

"What about Mary? May I see her?" Katherine pleaded, thinking that her daughter would need to hear about this from someone who cared about her.

"Why? So you can turn her against me," Henry snapped. "No. You will leave and you will not be able to contact her unless I allow you to. Goodbye Your Highness."

"For the love you bear our daughter, I beg of you, do not separate us," Katherine pleaded, tears welling up in her eyes. She sank to her knees again but this time, she grabbed the edges of Henry's robes, clutching them tightly.

"Do not attempt to manipulate me by using the love I have for our daughter against me, Madam, it will not work," Henry said coldly, tearing his robe from her hands and storming out of her apartments.

He didn't turn back even when he heard her wailing. Instead he walked to Anne's apartments, needing to see people who would actually be rejoicing over the news.

* * *

Inside Anne's apartments, the atmosphere was completely different to mood in the Queen's chambers; it was full of celebration. To say Thomas Boleyn was happy, would be an understatement.

"I never thought I'd be so glad that the Catholic Church is so corrupt," he laughed with a grin, surprising his children who had never seen him so light-hearted.

"Thomas, please don't say that when my brother is here," Elizabeth implored him, knowing how much of stanch Catholic the Howards were.

"Father does have a point, Mother. If Pope Clement wasn't so vindictive, I doubt he would have be so quick to grant King Henry the annulment of his marriage to Lady Katherine," George chimed in, a smug smirk on his face.

"I know he has a point but considering Pope Clement granted the King a divorce, I would assume that would make His Majesty less willing to hear anything bad about the Catholic Church," Elizabeth pointed out, giving her daughter and husband a rather meaningful look. She was not a true supporter of the reformation so it didn't bother her but she feared if Thomas or Anne's reformist tendencies were found out, her entire family would suffer for it.

"For now, religious reform is not important," Thomas assured her. "For now, we should be focusing on the fact that Anne is about to become the Queen of England." He beamed at his youngest daughter as he spoke.

"I think Anne is still processing that," George laughed, noticing that her sister seemed to be in a trace and hadn't reacted to anything anyone said.

"It feels like a dream," Anne murmured. "A wonderful dream I don't want to wake up from."

Thomas opened his mouth to remind his daughter that there was still much to do and prepare for but he was interrupted when the herald announced the King's arrival. At once Anne's eyes lit up and she rushed into Henry's arms, looking as happy as he did.

The Earl of Wiltshire smiled at that display of affection. For now, they didn't have to think of unpleasant things and instead they could focus on the fact that soon he would be the grandfather to the next King of England.

* * *

_**March 15 1527 **_

Henry had held off summoning his daughter until Katherine was moved into her own manor with only three of her ladies-in-waiting accompanying her. He had also wanted to wait until he had arranged for Mary's new household only to decide for the time being he would allow Mary to have a place at court; her governess, Lady Salisbury would be allowed to remain with her.

He also decided that in a fortnight, he would create a title of peerage for Anne to have as her own, not wanting anyone to claim- as Katherine had- that she was unworthy to be his queen. He decided to make her the Marquess of Pembroke, a title she would pass down to one of their sons.

The were also the matter of discussing a price with the Emperor for the safe return of his captured commanders aside from the traitorous Charles III, Duke of Bourbon who was set back to France for his execution.

There was also the wedding plans to consider and while Henry saw sense in waiting a while, he was determined to be married to Anne in April as he wanted to celebrate Mayday with his new queen and wife.

But all of this could wait until he had spoken to both of his bastard children. He was sure Hal would be accepting of his new stepmother who would certainly treat him warmer than Katherine had; Mary, on the other hand, might see Anne as the reason why her mother was no longer a Queen and she was no longer a princess-even without her mother's influence, she might come to that conclusion.

"Make way for the Lady Mary," someone called from outside, causing Henry to grow tense. In his haste to make sure that Mary was no longer referred to as the Princess of Wales, he had ordered all of his servants to call her by her rightful title. In hindsight that was something he should have waited to do after he had explained to her what had happened instead of letting her figure it out herself.

When his daughter walked into his audience chamber, Henry quickly dismissed her governess so he could speak to her alone. He noticed that she was dressed completely in black which coupled with her sad expression, made her look far too somber than any eleven-year-old should be.

"Mary, my pearl, I have missed you," Henry exclaimed, hugging his daughter tightly and kissing the top of her head. He needed her to know that despite the annulment, he still loved her very much.

"I missed you too, Father, but I am confused and hurt," Mary told him stiffly, trying to keep herself composed. She had fond it very hard to stop weeping when she learned of the Pope's decision to annul her parent's marriage. She had barely been able to believe that her father wanted to be rid of her and her mother, the fact that Pope Clement had given in to her father's demands made this entire travesty a hundred times worse. "How is it that a few days ago, I was my Lady Princess and now I am my Lady Mary? Why am I no longer a princess and my mother is no longer a Queen?" She knew the answer already but she needed to hear it from her father's lips despite dreading what he would say.

"Oh my Mary, I am sorry that you are in the middle of this and I swear to you that this is not your fault," Henry began, trying to find a more eloquent way of telling her that her mother was a liar who cursed her marriage. "It's a complicated matter, sweetheart. I thought that God wanted your mother and I to be married despite the fact that she was my brother's wife but I realized too late that was not the case."

"You're lying to me, Father, you do think it's my fault! You think because I am a girl, I cannot be your heir so you are punishing me by making me a bastard!" Mary cried, tears falling down her face.

"No, no, sweet child, that is not the case," Henry said gently, kneeling down and lifting Mary's chin towards him so they could be eye-to-eye. "You would make a wonderful queen but this is not Spain and I fear that there will be bad men who will refuse to accept a woman on the throne. England cannot survive another civil war. I must have a son to take the throne after me. It pains me to hurt you, Mary, but I must do what is best for my kingdom."

Mary said nothing more but she did not fight her father when he embraced her and instead she cried into his doublet, remaining silent as he whispered comforting lies into her ears.

* * *

_**March 30 1527**_

Kimbolton Castle was a nice country manor, lovely enough for any member of royalty but despite how nice it looked, it was a reminder of Katherine's fall from grace. She was not allowed to go to court, the servants were not to treat her as a queen and very few people were brave enough to visit her least they upset the King.

A comfortable manor did nothing to blunt the humiliation or woefulness Katherine felt as she knew that there was very little she could do about this situation. The Pope had made his decision and instead of doing the right thing and declaring her marriage good and valid, he had called her a sinner whose daughter was nothing more than a bastard.

The worst part was no one would stand up against the Pope's decision even though they disagreed with it. Katherine's own nephew was still reeling from the humiliating defeat he had when his troops tried to march on Italy and thanks to attacks from the Turks, he was unable to intercede on her behalf. Through Ambassador Mendoza, he had assured her that he would try to convince Henry to at least allow Mary to retain her princess status as it was a marriage of good faith. However, that would as good as admitting that she had not been a virgin when she first married Henry. Although she longed to allow her daughter to remain a princess and it galled her to stand against the Pope, the alternative was to allow herself be labeled a slut and a liar while an unworthy woman took her throne and crown.

No, she could not allow this to happen. God would not bless Henry's marriage with Anne and He was on Katherine's side. The consciences of either Pope Clement or Henry would awaken eventually and they would recant their foolishness.

If she was patient, Henry would come back to her and their daughter would be the Queen of England. She would not relent and she knew that her daughter and her people would not accept Anne Boleyn as the new queen.

* * *

Meanwhile, miles away from the unhappy former queen, Anne Boleyn was contemplating the reactions to the news of her marriage to King Henry as she lay in the arms of her husband-to-be.

According to her father, the common people had mostly accepted their monarch's upcoming marriage as Pope Clement had given his blessing. There were those who grumbled that Katherine was still the true Queen but her father and Master Cromwell had began spreading rumors that Katherine had hoped that her daughter would be Queen, marry the Holy Roman Emperor and make England one of his many countries; essentially robbing England of its freedom.

Speaking of the Holy Roman Emperor, he was not happy about the humiliation heaped on his aunt and cousin but he was currently occupied with the Turks and France to try and forcefully change the Pope or Henry's decisions.

King Francis was more than willing to accept Anne as the new Queen of England both out of a fondness of a girl who had grown up in his court and also to spite his enemy. He had sent orders to his ambassador to greet Anne as if she was a queen already, something that irked the Imperial ambassador who had not been as gracious when he was introduced to her.

The Duke and Duchess of Suffolk were polite to her, not very warm to her but not outright rude. However, Charles Brandon did try to start up trouble by implying that she had lain with Thomas Wyatt and he would have been banished if his wife hadn't pleaded with Henry to allow him to stay for the wedding.

Queen Margaret of Scotland and her daughter were to be guests at the wedding so Anne assumed that Henry's other sister approved of his new marriage if not Anne herself.

As for her stepchildren, Hal Fitzroy adored her and she went out of her way to dote on him as she tried to do with Lady Mary. Unfortunately, she knew she was doomed to fail when to came to her future stepdaughter. When they were introduced, Anne could see the blame in Mary's eyes when the girl looked at her.

It didn't matter that her cousin tried to attack Italy only to have most of his fleet destroyed by a sudden blizzard and that the remainder of the fleet was captured by her father. It didn't matter that out of anger and spite Pope Clement had decided to punish her mother for what her cousin had attempted to do by granting her father's request for an annulment. To the former princess, it was Anne's fault and Anne's alone that her father had decided to discard his wife of nearly two decades and bastardize his daughter. Lady Mary- as did Princess Katherine and their supporters- believed that Anne was an evil seductress who had bewitched Henry to do her bidding.

Lips trailing up her naked shoulder brought Anne back to reality.

"Have I regained your attention, my Lady Perseverance?" Henry purred, nipping at her neck.

"You never lost it, my Lord Desire," Anne told him playfully. "I simply thought I had tired you out," she teased him.

"Never," Henry laughed, sizing her mouth in a lusty kiss.

If her father complained about her giving in and losing her maidenhead before marriage, Anne would point out that the only person who would know was her future husband the man whose arms she was currently in. Besides if she did get pregnant after her first time, not even the doctors would realize that she had conceived a week before her wedding night.

"I will give you a son, Henry, I swear to you," Anne promised as her lover straddled her.

"Do not trouble yourself with that, sweetheart, we have all the time in the world to have a prince. Right now I want to enjoy you again," Henry whispered in her ear. "I love you, Anne."

"And I love you," Anne said breathlessly.

* * *

**Does this look cluttered to anyone else? Please tell me if you think I should fix my formatting. In fact please give me any constructive criticism or any feedback at all. **


	2. Hopes and Dreams

_**May 15 1527**_

Today was the day Anne Boleyn would be crowned Queen of England. Henry had opted to have a private small wedding back in April after some urging from Cardinal Wolsey who feared the English people would still be unwilling to accept Anne despite the Pope declaring Henry's marriage to Katherine of Aragon null and void.

However while he was willing to keep the ceremony small for his wedding-his first true wedding he insisted- King Henry refused to do the same for Anne's coronation, wanting it to be a bigger celebration than his own coronation which had happened nearly twenty years ago.

As the queens and kings before her had done, Anne slept in the royal apartments of the Tower of London alongside her husband who refused to leave her side. She had fallen asleep in Henry's arms, dreaming of what her new life as queen would be like.

But her wonderful dream soon became a nightmare.

_"Madam, you have been convicted of high treason," the jailer told her matter of factly. "You will beheaded at the King's pleasure."_

_Anne was dressed in rags and she was kneeling on the dirty ground, tears flowing down her cheeks._

_"No, there has to be a mistake! I am innocent! Henry, please, I am innocent!" she cried hysterically. A hand sized her chin and suddenly she was looking into the furious eyes of her husband. _

_"Your neck," he said coldly. "I loved your neck."_

_With that, Henry swung his sword towards his wife, a sick expression of pleasure on his face as the blade cut into her neck._

"NO!" Anne screamed, shooting upright, breathing heavily.

"Anne, what is it? What happened?" Henry asked her worriedly, waving the guard away as he wrapped his arms around his wife. "It's all right, darling, it was just a bad dream. There is nothing to be afraid of."

She was still shaking as she touched her neck where the sword in her dream had just hit her.

"Just a bad dream," Anne agreed, burying her face in Henry's chest. She reminded herself that he would never hurt her and what she had experienced was just a nightmare brought on by her anxiety.

"Do you want to tell me what it was about?" Henry questioned gently, stroking her face which was paler than he had ever seen it.

"It doesn't matter because it would never happen," Anne told him firmly, kissing his lips, wanting to forget about that awful dream. Considering that there was light coming through the windows, it was almost time for them to wake up anyway. "Let's just get ready for today."

"As you wish, my darling," Henry said with a smile. "After all, today is all about you, my queen."

Anne beamed at him, her nightmare already fading from her mind as she felt a rush of excitement at knowing that she would soon be crowned Queen Anne of England.

* * *

The crowds that stood on the streets of London as the royal procession rode by were rather subdued. Although some cheered as the Queen and King rode by, most stood there silently, their gazes were slightly hostile.

Anne was determined not to let the lukewarm reception she was receiving bother her and instead waved and smiled as warmly as she could. Soon the people would forget about Katherine of Aragon and they would cheer for Anne and her sons. It would just take a little time for them to love her but thanks to the Pope, it would happen sooner than it would if they had still been fighting for the annulment.

Suddenly there was a sound like a crack and Anne heard shouting and neighing coming from behind her carriage. The procession came to halt and Henry leapt out of the carriage to see what was going on, ordering Anne to stay there. Despite her better judgement, Anne stuck her head out the window to see what was happening.

"She is a whore and she deserves to die!" a man was shouting as two guards struggled to keep him from escaping their grasp.

"Take this man to a prison at once," Henry commanded, looking as though he was five minutes from strangling the person who had tried to shoot his wife and continued to make such ludicrous accusations.

"She has already bewitched the Pope and the King, how long before we are all under her thumb?!" the madman continued to rant. "Long Live Queen Katherine and Princess Mary! Death to Lady Anne Boleyn!"

"For God's sake, shut him up!" Henry bellowed, causing one of the guards to stuff a handkerchief in the prisoner's mouth before they dragged him away. He then returned to the carriage with a strained smile on his face. He gave Anne a chaste kiss, assuring her that everything was fine and nothing would spoil her special day. Then he commanded the procession to continue forward.

After the procession, Anne learned that the man had tried to shoot her but because of a lack of skill with firearms, he had missed and hit a groomsman's horse instead. Although the poor beast had to be killed, his rider only suffered a minor injury thankfully.

Despite the lack of bloodshed, Anne couldn't help but fear that her nightmare and the gunman were both bad omens. However, she pushed those thoughts aside as she knelt down at the alter and Henry put the crown of St. Edward's on her head making her officially an anointed queen.

* * *

As Henry and Anne returned to Westminster Palace for a celebration, Master Cromwell and Cardinal Wolsey went to interrogate the man who tried to shoot the newly crowned Queen Anne.

"What is your name and trade?" Cromwell questioned, judging by the man's poor attire that he was not a gentleman which made it quite suspicious that he would have enough money for a gun.

"Matthew Porter," the man said, looking defeated as he knew he failed his mission and he would die having accomplished nothing. "I am a farmer."

Wolsey's eyebrow rose, thinking it was quite unusual for a farmer to possess a weapon of any kind.

"And why did you decide to shoot the Queen?" Cromwell asked coolly.

The man's eyes narrowed. "I would never try to harm the true Queen, Her Majesty Katherine of Aragon," he declared fiercely. "God gave me the mission to kill the great whore before her poison could destroy England forever."

Cromwell fought the urge to roll his eyes. _If God wanted you to shoot her, he would have made you a skilled marksman. _Rather than voice his thoughts aloud, he continued interrogating Master Porter.

"How did God provide you with the money for a musket?" he asked calmly. Part of him wondered how a farmer had ended up in the city of London but he supposed the man could have hitched a ride on any cart.

"I had a good harvest and saved my money," Porter replied vaguely as though the only reason why he would put his funds aside was to carry out an assassination attempt. He was clearly keeping something back.

"Tell me more about what God said to you," Cromwell demanded, deciding to set aside the money issue for now. After all, he had a shrewd guess who had sent this man on a mission to assassinate Queen Anne either directly or indirectly.

"God didn't speak to me but His angels spoke to a nun," Porter told them. "She had dreams from angels about what would happen if Anne Boleyn was allowed to be queen. She said that Anne Boleyn would have a daughter and King Henry would die soon after, causing England to be drowned in blood."

Wolsey and Cromwell exchanged a look, realizing who the farmer was speaking of: The mad nun of Kent, Elizabeth Barton had made a prophecy a year ago that King Henry would save Rome from the devil (considering what happened with Emperor Charles, the implication was rather amusing) and Henry had been quite pleased with her until she began to speak out against his quest for an annulment.

It seemed that while Elizabeth Barton had lost the King's favor, she still had people who believed in her "visions of the future" and one of them had decided to try to kill the new queen to avert what he believed was the truth.

It was time for the mad nun to be silenced least she incited any more would be assassins to kill Anne Boleyn.

* * *

_**June 28 1527**_

Both Porter and Barton were found guilty of high treason and sentenced to be hanged sometime in July. In the meantime, Henry was more than happy to spend his birthday with his newly crowned queen, unaware that she had a surprise for him.

Anne had missed her courses twice and was growing ill in the mornings something that she knew signified that she was with child. She waited until Henry's birthday to summon a midwife, thinking that if she was right, the news would make for a pleasant surprise. She had sent her ladies save for her sister and mother, not wanting anyone to know before she had a chance to tell Henry.

The midwife confirmed her suspicions and the woman was dismissed with a pouch full of money for her service and silence. After spending several minutes of celebrating with her mother and Mary, Anne decided to go find Henry so she could tell him of his unofficial birthday gift. The red-haired monarch was busy with his councilors but Anne doubted he would be too angry at her for interrupting especially when her news involved the prince he had been hoping to have for so long.

Anne was too excited to even bother explain to the sentries why she needed to go into her husband's study despite knowing he was in a meeting. She simply brushed past them, smiling wildly. The men around the table turned when she walked in, surprised by her sudden appearance. Norfolk and Wolsey looked annoyed at her imprudence. Her father and Cromwell looked thoughtful, knowing she would not barge in for no reason. Henry merely looked hopeful.

After all, he spent every night in her bed and was well aware that she was sick every morning for the past month. He knew what that could mean even if he didn't voice his suspicions.

"Anne, what are you doing here?" Henry asked, sounding bemused with a trace of excitement. Why else would she look so giddy if not because she was pregnant?

"I must speak to you alone, Your Majesty, it is most urgent," Anne told him.

"Well I suppose we can pick up our meeting tomorrow," Henry suggested. "After all it is my birthday. I deserve a break, don't you think so, gentlemen?" he jested cheerfully, nodding at his councilors, silently ordering them to leave.

The auburn-haired queen waited until only she and Henry were left alone in his audience chamber before she spoke.

"I have just found out that I have gotten you two birthday presents, my love, one I can give you tonight but the other won't be here for another seven months," Anne informed him playfully.

"Are you sure?" Henry questioned, knowing at once what she was getting at. When Anne nodded, he embraced her, kissing her everywhere on her face before tenderly kissing her lips. "Have you checked with Dr. Linacre?"

"I sought out a midwife instead," Anne replied.

"Well I think Dr. Linacre should take a look at you just in case," Henry reasoned before beaming at her. "Seven months. We shall have our son in January then. A prince who will usher a golden age for England."

"Like his father before him," Anne gushed, cupping Henry's face in her hands.

"Oh Anne, I love you so much and you have made me most happy," Henry quipped, stealing her motto as it certainly fit this moment.

Anne smiled as she kissed him, thinking that they truly were on the edge of a golden world. She would do what Katherine had failed to do: give birth to a healthy son. When she did that, those who disparaged her by calling her a whore and a witch would declare her as England's savior.

That mad nun, Elizabeth Barton and all who believed her nonsense would be proven wrong and Anne Boleyn would be victorious.

Yes, she was the most happy.

* * *

_**July 5 1527**_

The scandal of Christendom was pregnant. Katherine was not a fool, she knew that Anne would get pregnant eventually but she had hoped that it would take longer than just a few months after the wedding. According to her spies, the false queen was almost three months pregnant and would give birth sometime in January.

Katherine closed her eyes as she remembered her little new years prince who had lived for fifty-two days. If he had lived, he would be nearly seventeen and Henry and she would be picking out his bride-hopefully one of her nieces or grand-nieces. If her little Prince Hal had lived, none of this would be happening because Henry would have his son and not even Lady Anne Boleyn could convince him to disinherit his only legitimate prince.

If Anne had a son, Katherine and Mary would be forgotten by everyone. A son along with the Pope's continued blessing would make the English people accept him and his mother despite knowing that they were forsaking their beloved Princess of Wales and her mother.

The worst part was Katherine was unable to do anything to prevent this travesty. If she spoke out against the Pope Clement's decision, saying he had no right to issue a proclamation invalidating her marriage than her enemies would say that his predecessor had no right giving a papal deposition allowing her to marry her dead husband's brother.

A dark part of Katherine hoped that the so-called Queen Anne would give birth to a girl or a stillborn. Perhaps then, Henry would realize that it wasn't Katherine's fault, that Anne Boleyn was no better than any other woman and was capable failure just like anyone else. Perhaps then the Pope would realize he had made a mistake and would renounce his declaration, allowing Henry, who would come to his sense, to reinstate Mary and Katherine to their rightful positions.

She tried to repress those thoughts and spent long hours in penance before deciding that she would pray that Anne would have a healthy baby. She would never insult Mary by praying for a boy and she couldn't bring herself to wish that her rival would give birth to the healthy prince she failed to bring into this world.

As for Mary, Katherine's spies at court had managed to smuggle her letters to her beloved daughter and vice versa. She would tell Mary of her stepmother's pregnancy and counsel her daughter to act as though she was happy for her father. She would remind Mary that the baby Anne carried was her flesh and blood and it would make her father happy to see his daughter acting like a loving sister to her half-sibling.

Katherine knew that her daughter was stubborn and hated her new stepmother but it was important that she continued to have her father's favor even if it meant being courteous to her mother's replacement and sisterly to her rival.

With Mary's position being so shaky, Katherine feared that if she behaved terribly towards Anne, Henry would send her away, calling her an ungrateful bastard. Worse if she insulted her half-sibling, Henry might view this as treason and would downgrade her even more than he already had.

Mary would have to tread carefully and to be forward would be forearmed. If Katherine was able to inform her daughter of her stepmother's pregnancy, she could put on an act of happiness when Henry made the official announcement.

All her daughter could do was pretend and all Katherine could do was hope. Hope that everything would work out. Hope that God would touch the hearts of those who had turned against her. Hope that she would return to court as Queen and Mary would become England's ruler after her father.

It was hard to have hope without wishing that Anne Boleyn would fail and she would be reborn from her rival's ashes.

* * *

It seemed that while England and Italy were done fighting, France and Spain were not. They both had sent treaties to King Henry, hoping to convince him to ally with one of them.

Despite being war-hungry and filling the English coffers with quite a bit of coins the last time, Henry had decided not to get involved with the squabble over territories, feeling that his time and resources were better used to secure his own country for his unborn son.

His Excellency Jean du Bellay had privately told Cardinal Wolsey that King Francis was still eager to make an alliance and he had commanded that his ambassador after the birth of Queen Anne's child suggest that Princess Margaret could marry the new Prince of Wales or if it was a girl, she could be a bride for the Dauphin.

Wolsey understood at once what the French monarch was trying to do. While Emperor Charles might grudgingly offer his nieces for the future Prince of Wales, he would never dream of allowing his son to marry his cousin's rival for the throne of England which King Henry would find very insulting. By offering his son-his oldest son no less- for Henry's daughter by Anne would not only make it clear that France was England's ally, it would make a statement to all of Europe that while Emperor Charles might disagree with the Pope and King Henry's decision, King Francis supported them.

King Henry had told his councilors that Queen Anne was expecting a child and had them draw up an Act of Succession that would make it clear to all that boy or girl, the new royal baby would be his heir.

Wolsey had wondered if his master would be angry if instead of the prince the entire court was praying for, Queen Anne gave birth to a princess. Would he declare he had made a mistake and return to Katherine of Aragon and her daughter? The Lord Chancellor doubted that would be the case, considering that Anne Boleyn was in the prime of her life and could have many babies: both sons and daughters. It was more likely that the King would disappointed but not disgruntled.

However, with the mad nun of Kent's prophecies still circling, Wolsey feared that the birth of a daughter would make it seem as if she was right and the Pope might use it as an incentive to recant his blessing. It was better for all of them if Anne had a son even if that would make her pompous father and uncle even more powerful and smug.

"Your Eminence, might I have a word with you?" Sir Thomas More questioned, bringing Wolsey back to the present. He glanced around the room, making it clear he would speak to the Cardinal where no one would be listening in.

"Of course, my lord," Wolsey agreed. He followed More out of the Great Hall and into an unused chamber. "How may I be of service?"

"As you must have heard, William Tyndale's English translation of the Bible has been circulating around England," More began. "I have learned from my daughter, that she has seen a copy of it in the Queen's apartments."

Wolsey knew that More's daughter Elizabeth had joined the Queen's ladies-in-waiting and he had guessed that she was there to spy for the Dowager Princess of Wales. If it weren't for his loyalty to More, he might have told King Henry about this.

"And where did she see it?" Wolsey inquired, already knowing the answer. He had spies in Anne's household just as he did in Katherine and her daughter's households.

"In plain view," More told him, before his face paled. "The King already knows, doesn't he?"

"He would have to be blind not to notice," Wolsey pointed out with a sigh. "It doesn't surprise me that Her Majesty has an interest in the reformation. Her father and she have been known to make donations to groups that support Martin Luther. Luckily those heretics in Germany do not support the King's annulment and are still calling the Princess Dowager Queen of England. It's ironic but thanks to the Pope's decision, it is unlikely that Queen Anne will be able to convince His Majesty to turn against the Catholic Church."

More did not look convinced. "Unlikely but not impossible," he said foreboding. "She is a dangerous woman, Wolsey and I fear that once she has her son, heretics will be able to take over England."

Cardinal Wolsey said nothing, thinking perhaps he should dig a little further into Queen Anne's interest. At the very least, find a way to diminish her control over the King before she gave birth to a son and King Henry viewed every heretical word from her mouth as the gospel truth.

* * *

_**July 30 1527**_

Her father's concubine was pregnant. Of course Mary had already known that before her father chose to make a public announcement that he would soon have another child. Even if her mother hadn't warned her, Mary would have already known as the whore's belly had become rather swollen as she was entering her fifth month.

Despite her mother's urging, Mary could not help but frown as she listened to the courtiers congratulate her father and Anne on their upcoming happiness. They were betraying her mother by doing so- deep down she knew that people like More, her aunt and her uncle were only expressing good cheer because they knew if they didn't, the King would be angry at them. However, that knowledge did not make the former princess feel any better.

She hoped Anne would give birth to a girl so her father would realize that he had made a mistake forsaking Katherine for his harlot. It would be better if God chose to abandon the harlot altogether and made her miscarry but Mary could not wish such a fate on an innocent child even if it was Anne's baby especially when it was Mary's flesh and blood just as Hal Fitzroy was.

Mary remembered hearing about the incident before Anne's coronation- for days afterward, she had wished that the gunman had not missed- and how a woman named Elizabeth Barton had said that Anne would have a girl which would lead England to be torn apart by civil war. Although she prayed that God would not take her Papa, who she still loved, she did not care if that prophecy came true, she would not let Anne's children- sons or daughters- take what rightfully belong to her.

She would be Queen of England, not the spawn of her stepmother. God would see to that.

"Mary," her aunt called, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Your father wants you to go up to the dais." She gave her niece a stern look, making it clear that she expected her to behave instead of causing a scene. Not that the Duchess of Suffolk liked Anne Boleyn any more than Mary did but she had promised Katherine to keep her niece out of trouble with her brother.

A little apprehensive, Lady Mary walked towards the two thrones, curtsying to her father as she got nearer. Protocol dictated that she should curtsy to the queen as well but Mary would not acknowledge any queen aside from her mother. Luckily King Henry was sitting close enough to her stepmother that it seemed like she had curtsied to both of them, allowing her to get away with doing it only once.

"Mary, my sweet, in January, you will have a new brother," Henry told her as if she had somehow missed his announcement. "When he arrives, I hope you will be a good sister to him. After all he is to be the new Prince of Wales."

"Of course, I will, Papa," Mary said sweetly, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice at the reminder of the title she had lost. Although she knew that had her mother given birth to a boy, she would have been unable to retain her status as her father's heir, it would have been much easier to give up being the Princess of Wales for her mother's son than it would be for Anne's son.

_I hope she never has sons. _Mary snarled inwardly.

"Good girl," her father praised her with a warm smile before beckoning Hal Fitzroy over. Putting Hal on his lap and having Mary stand in-between him and Anne, he declared "Je suis en famille!" causing the courtiers to clap.

Well aware of the eyes upon her, Mary was forced to continue to smile happily, not letting her outrage show.

While she could accept little Hal being her father's family, even if he was a bastard, Anne Boleyn and her spawn had no right to be included. Her mother was the true queen and father's true wife. She could not wait until the Pope recanted his vile mistake and her father saw the Boleyn witch as the unworthy harlot she was.

Mary met Anne's eyes and she was pleased to see unease in them. The Great Whore had cause to worried for when Mary was Queen she would see to it that Anne was burned at the stake for her sins.

* * *

_**August 13 1527**_

If there was one bad thing about becoming pregnant so early in her marriage to Henry was the fact that she would miss out on her first Christmas as queen. In fact, she was due to go into confinement during the last week of November.

Despite knowing that she would not be able to participate, Anne had decided to plan a masque anyway, thinking it would be a good way to show off her skills even though she would not be present at the Christmastide feast.

"Are you sure you are not doing too much?" Elizabeth inquired, looking for her daughter's shoulder. "Too much excitement is bad for the baby."

"Mother, for goodness sake, I am simply designing a dress, not practicing the dances with my ladies," Anne snapped, rolling her eyes. She couldn't help but think that nearly everyone was treating her like a piece of glass that might break. At least with Henry, she could understand his worry, his former wife had five of her seven pregnancies end with miscarriages. Her mother recoiled as though she had been slapped. The queen sighed and softened: "I'm sorry, Mother, but I'm fine. Honestly, I'm just glad to be able to do something. I don't know how I will be able to handle two months of being confined in my apartments with nothing to do."

"Once you have your son in your arms, you'll find that two months of boredom will be well worth it," Mary assured her, deciding to leave the part about her needing to stay in the Queen's apartment a month after the birth so her body could properly heal.

Anne nodded, lightly rubbing her belly. She felt excited knowing that in three months she would have given birth to a healthy son in less than a year of being Henry's wife and queen.

She wondered how Princess Katherine and Lady Mary would react once the new Prince of Wales was born. Would they accept it or would it make them want to stir up an uprising against their rivals?

Thinking of Lady Mary caused Anne to shiver, there was hatred in the girl's eyes that she had never thought an eleven-year-old could be capable of feeling. Anne wondered if even without Princess Katherine's urging, the former princess might try to harm her half-brother either directly or indirectly.

"Anne, are you all right? Are you feeling too cold? Should I get more wood for the fire or bring you a blanket?" Elizabeth offered, sounding as though she was afraid her daughter would freeze to death despite it being a warm day.

"No, Mother, I'm fine," Anne said, shooting Mary a dirty look when she saw the corners of her sister's mouth twitching. She laid down her quill and held up her drawing for mother and sister to inspect. She then turned to her other ladies-in-waiting. "Nan, will you please get this to palace seamstress? Tell her, that I'll need ten of them."

Nan curtsied before hurrying off to do her mistress' errand.

"Well now that's over with, perhaps you should take a short nap," Elizabeth suggested, hopefully.

Anne masterfully turned her yawn into a sigh. "Will it make you feel better if I do?" she asked quickly, not wanting to admit that she was feeling rather tired. At least this way, she could pretend she was only lying down to please her mother.

"It would."

"Then I will lie down but I'm only doing it for you," Anne said firmly, ignoring her sister's knowing expression.

"And the baby," Elizabeth reminded her, looking a little too pleased with herself.

"Yes Mother."

As she walked towards her bedchambers, Anne rested her hand on the top of her belly. Soon she would have her son and nothing else would matter.

* * *

_**October 8 1527**_

Henry did not look like he was enjoying himself as they rode through the forest, looking for any wild game to hunt. It was nearly winter, so the King had wanted to go on one last hunt before it became too cold and too snowy to enjoy such a pastime.

Unfortunately, it seemed that he could barely keep his mind on the hunt, he was no doubt thinking of his pregnant wife who was too big with child to join them as she usually would.

Charles didn't mind that Anne Boleyn was not with them as he held no love for that horrid woman who his friend was so infatuated by. Although he would never say so aloud, he agreed with his wife that she was a cheap nothing who had caused a good woman to be cast out while her daughter was made a bastard.

Of course, Henry was too smitten to care about his wife and daughter; he had even ignored his brother-in-law's warning that she had lain with Thomas Wyatt. Henry had taken Anne's side and nearly banished his childhood friend from court. A fact that still upset Brandon as he rode by his King's side.

It was clear to everyone that Henry was not enjoying himself and his bad mood was casting such tension over the hunting party that it was almost a relief when he decided to return to the palace instead of continuing to search for game.

"How is my sister, Suffolk?" Henry asked as they rode towards the palace. "And how are my dear nieces and nephews?

"Quite well, Your Majesty," Charles replied. "I think my wife and I would like to invite them to court for Christmastide."

"Well they should meet their new cousin so I think that would be a splendid idea," Henry said with a merry laugh. "Just think, Charles, by the New Years, we shall have a Prince of Wales."

_Or a princess. _Charles thought ruefully. After all Henry had believed that each of Queen Katherine's pregnancies would end with a healthy son. Why would Anne Boleyn be any luckier?

In fact, in his opinion having a daughter would be just what the Boleyn bitch and her smug family deserved for what they had done to Queen Katherine and Princess Mary.

* * *

Henry didn't even bother to change out of his riding clothes and instead he made a beeline for Anne's apartments, wanting to see her right away.

He found her sitting in a chair, reading a book only for her to drop the book and clutch her stomach.

"Anne!" Henry exclaimed racing to her side. "Should I get Dr. Linacre?"

"No, no, here, feel this," Anne demanded, grabbing his hand and putting it on her stomach. Within seconds, the King felt a thump against his palm.

"Now that was a powerful kick," Henry declared with a grin. "Our boy must be strong."

"Just like his father," Anne agreed, lying her hand on his. "Soon we shall have our son."

"The prince England has been waiting so long for," Henry agreed, kissing her lips before kissing her belly.

"Our Prince Henry of Wales," Anne declared.

"No not Henry. That was what _her _son was called," Henry said urgently. While he would love to have a son named after himself, he refused to tempt fate by naming a son born in January the name he had given his infant son who was born and died over a decade ago. "We will call him Edward or Edmund or perhaps a name that no other king has had."

"Well we have until January to decide," Anne reminded him, smiling softly, her eyes were shining with excitement and joy. "We'll decided once he is born."

* * *

_**January 23 1528 **_

Her water broke just a few hours after she had broken her fast and now she had spent the entire day in labor. Mary had said that first births were always the hardest and longest; Anne hoped her older sister was right but she was unsure she could go through this much pain for this length of time for a second time.

The midwife continued to tell her to push, her sister and mother continued to tell her to hold on and she was doing fine. Anne was ready to tell all three of them to go to hell if they didn't stop saying that.

Instead she simply settled for letting out a pained scream as another contraction rippled through her body.

Finally, the pain stopped and the midwife held a child up. The woman cut the umbilical cord and gave the infant's bottom a ringing slap that caused it to let out a wail before she went to clean the child up.

"Hurry and give me my son," Anne demanded, remaining sitting up so they could put the baby in her arms when her was all cleaned up and swaddled.

"Your Majesty, you have given birth to a healthy baby girl," the midwife said, her tone was soft and her eyes were filled with pity

It took all of Anne's self-control not to wail in horror. She had given birth a princess instead of the prince she had promised.

Her enemies would celebrate and Henry…

Oh God, what would Henry think when he found out she had failed him? He had turned England upside down so he could divorce the barren Katherine and have her as his wife. And despite all they had gone through, she had given him a second daughter instead of the Prince of Wales that he wanted.

* * *

Henry's feet moved slowly as he walked towards the Queen's apartment. Anne had given birth to a daughter instead of the son they had hoped for.

He couldn't help but feel disappointed. All of Europe would surely be laughing at him once they learned he had a second daughter despite divorcing Katherine when she could not give him a prince.

The thought of Katherine made the disappointment disappear and it was replaced with outrage as he recalled her words to him:

"_The only reason you are marrying that harlot is because you want a son. I wonder how long it will take for you to tire of her when she fails. Will you make her daughters bastards? Will you search for a third wife?"_

Her first pregnancy had been a stillborn daughter and yet she dared to think Anne giving birth to a healthy daughter should be labeled as a failure. No. Anne giving birth to a healthy princess this early in their marriage was a good omen that she could have strong children. It was a girl this time but it would be a boy next time.

With that thought in mind, Henry smiled as he entered the room outside the birthing chamber, only to frown when he noticed the uneasy looks on everyone's face. Did they all think so little of him that he would be angry at Anne?

"I hear I have a beautiful daughter," he declared happily. "I think her name should be Anne after my loving queen."

"A fine name," George Boleyn agreed, beaming at Henry. Obviously, he was more concerned about his brother-in-law's reaction than harboring any resentment that his sister had given birth to his niece instead of his nephew.

His father was less pleased but smiled at Henry's demeanor all the same and looked even happier when the King ordered for the bells to be rung in honor of the new Princess Anne.

* * *

After that, Henry walked into Anne's bedchambers where she lay with their newborn daughter.

"I'm so sorry, my lord," Anne whispered once she saw him.

"Don't be, my love, my mother was the first of three girls before her brothers were born. If we can have a strong daughter than a strong son is sure to follow," Henry assured her as he stroked the head of their baby.

"Can we name her Elizabeth after your mother and mine?" Anne asked, relief flooding her now that she knew that her husband wasn't angry at her.

"While that is a lovely name, I think we should save it for her sister. I thought that we should name her Anne for her mother instead," Henry informed her. His eyes widened as tears fell from her eyes, mistaking them for tears of sadness instead of joy. "Have I made you unhappy?"

"I would only be unhappy if you stopped loving me."

"London would have to sink into the Thames first."

Henry kissed her lips lovingly before moving onto the bed and wrapping his arms around his wife and daughter.

He would protect them from their enemies. He would not let anyone, not even the Pope himself, try to say that they weren't his true wife and daughter. Princess Anne was the beginning of a golden age of England and he would fight to his death to make sure that no one tried to dispose them.

God was on their side and Henry was sure that he would bless the royal marriage with a son eventually. England did need a Prince of Wales, soon rather than later, but for now his two Annes were enough.


	3. Bittersweet

_**January 24 1528**_

News spread through the city of London like wildfire: Anne Boleyn had given birth to a princess instead of the Prince of Wales she had been so certain she carried. Despite she and the King believing that she would have a son, the new queen had failed and those who supported Queen Katherine were celebrating what surely would be a blow to the Boleyn woman's vanity if not the beginning of her downfall.

"Serves that haughty whore right," Tom Clinton hissed as he drank his ale. "She thought she could do better than Queen Katherine and yet she failed." There were many jeers and hoots at that remark.

"Did she really fail?" Arthur Paxton questioned loudly, causing the tavern to fall silent, surprised by his words. "Do not get me wrong, I love Queen Katherine and Princess Mary as much as the next person. But the old queen only gave birth to a healthy daughter after seven long years of her marriage and yet the new Princess Anne was born nearly ten months after her parents were wed," he explained, not wanting to upset anyone by calling Anne Boleyn queen.

"The King doesn't seem to be disappointed by the birth of the newest princess," his friend, George remarked, thinking of how the people of London had woken up to the sound of bells ringing, something that many had assumed meant to signal the arrival of the new Prince of Wales. "I have a brother who works in the royal kitchen, the celebrations for the new baby girl have not been cancelled and it is said that His Majesty has not let go of his daughter since she was put into his arms."

"Well then, I suppose we should toast to the newest princess," the bartender suggested, raising his own full mug of beer. "To Princess Anne Tudor!"

Even though they didn't like her mother, the people were willing to accept the newest princess as she was the daughter of their beloved King Henry and that was good enough for them. In time, when Queen Anne had a son, they would accept him and his mother as well.

* * *

Anne Boleyn had failed to give her father the son he had so desperately wanted and Mary was thrilled when she learned of this new development. She expected her father to be furious at his false wife and was sure that he had demanded that she and her daughter to be kept from his sight.

Mary expected King Henry to stride into her apartments and apologize for believing the lies that wicked woman had fed him. He would tell her that he had sent a letter to the Pope Clement, pleading with him to recant his declaration and once His Holiness did so, he would call back Queen Katherine and reinstate Mary as his one and only heir. He would banish Anne Boleyn, her bastard daughter and her horrible family from court and out of their lives.

When she heard the bells, she thought nothing of it, believing that Anne or one of her family members had ordered it in hopes to cushion the blow or to pretend that giving birth to a princess was a good thing for their family.

When the morning hours dragged on until it was almost noon and her father had not come to her rooms, Mary simply thought that her father was too angry and disillusioned to do anything but rage in his chambers. After all, he had just come to the realization that his harlot had played him for a fool.

When she told Lady Salisbury that she had no wish to visit her half-sister as she knew that her father would send the baby and her dratted mother away and she would never lay eyes on either of them again, her governess disagreed with her view. Lady Salisbury tried to tell her that the King would not banish them from court because Anne Boleyn was young and even if Mary's father was unhappy with his second daughter, he would try again with Anne until she gave him a healthy prince. Mary, perhaps naively, had not believed that Lady Salisbury could possibly be right.

Surely, her father would realize that his new daughter was God's punishment for forsaking her and her mother. Surely, he would realize that if he did not return to his true family that Elizabeth Barton's prophecy would come true. Surely, he would not forgive Anne for failing him as he had not forgiven his loving and faithful wife of two decades because she had failed to give birth to a healthy Prince of Wales.

Then her father sent for her and Mary's hopes soared. She could hardly contain the smile on her face as she walked down the corridors with a small bounce in her step. She hardly noticed that Lady Salisbury seemed to be almost pitying her charge's good mood or that the courtiers barely bent their knees as she passed them even though she had expected the nobles to cleave to her and her mother's side once Anne failed to give to a birth to a prince.

All she cared about was the fact that soon everything would go back to the way it was before her father had met the Boleyns. She was certain that no more witchcraft from the Boleyn whore could tear her family apart.

But when she arrived at her father's audience chamber, her heart plummeted like a stone in her chest. King Henry was holding a swaddled infant in his arms, his eyes filled with love and affection.

"Mary, my dearest, come say hello to your sister, Princess Anne," her father commanded her happily, breaking Mary's heart in the process.

She struggled to keep the tears at bay as the name _Princess Anne_ resounded in her head. Instead of being angry at Anne for giving birth to a girl, he was thrilled even rewarding that bitch by choosing her to be the namesake of their daughter.

Why would he do that? How could do this to her and Queen Katherine? How could her father be happy with Anne when he was angry at her mother? How could her father be pleased with the birth of his second daughter when he had disinherited his first-born daughter for not being a boy?

To Mary's horror, she could not stop the sob escaping her lips nor the tears rolling down her face. She closed her eyes, willing herself to stop but she could not. She was not aware that her father had cleared the room until she found herself in his arms, bawling like a baby into his doublet once again.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Mary cried, angry at herself for not being able to control her emotions. "I don't know why I'm crying." That was a lie of course and she was sure her father knew it. But she couldn't tell him the truth in fear that he would get angry at her and she was too vulnerable right now to be able to take her papa yelling at her.

When she first learned that Anne had given birth to a daughter, she had thought that everything would go back the way it was. But just as Anne had replaced her mother, it seemed that Princess Anne would replace Mary in their father's heart.

"It's all right, sweetheart, I know this must be a confusing time for you," Henry said soothingly, stroking her hair. "Let me assure you of something: just because you aren't a princess anymore, doesn't mean you are not a king's beloved daughter, my precious pearl."

"But why are you so happy with Anne when you were so disappointed when I was born?" the question fell from Mary's lips before she could stop herself.

"Oh sweet child, no, Mary, you were the only living child I had with your mother and I swear to you that I was overjoyed when you were born," Henry assured her, leaving out the part where he had hoped that Mary's birth meant that he and Katherine could conceive a living son. His daughter was already doubting her worth and he had no wish to add to her insecurity. "Forgive me, Mary, I did not call you here to hurt you and I am sorry that I have. But you must understand that Anne is your family too just as much as Hal is."

_But Hal isn't legitimate nor could he replace me as your heir. _

Mary wiped her tears as her father kissed the top of her head. Then deciding that his daughter was comforted enough, he called Lady Salisbury and the infant's nursemaid back in.

Holding her father's hand, Mary was led over to Princess Anne and this time, she was able to force herself to smile as she laid eyes of her rival. But the more she stared at her new sister, her smile became genuine. Princess Anne looked like a pleasant baby even if she was Anne Boleyn's daughter. Perhaps she would not be so bad.

"I was thinking you could be her godmother, sweetheart, would you like that?" Henry asked his daughter, smiling encouragingly to her. After all, who better to be a godmother to his newborn princess than her older sister.

"Yes, Father," Mary said, nodding her head with a determined look in her eyes.

Eventually the false queen would be cast out and Katherine and Mary would be returned to their rightful positions. When that happened, Mary would not allow her half-sister to live with her maternal family; instead she would entreat her father to allow the child to live in her household where Mary could make sure she grew up to a respectable woman unlike Anne Boleyn.

* * *

_**January 27 1528**_

Mary Brandon wondered how Norfolk and Wiltshire had reacted when Anne had a girl instead of a boy. Did they fear for their positions? Did they blame Anne for it? Not that the Duchess of Suffolk had much sympathy for her sister-in-law but even she didn't deserve to be yelled at for something she had no control over.

If Norfolk and Wilshire were disappointed with the newest royal child, they were doing a masterful job of concealing it. Lord Howard looked as impassive as he also did, Lord Boleyn had a look of pride on his face as he carried his baby granddaughter up the aisle where Archbishop Warham was waiting.

He and Brandon were Princess Anne's godfathers while his wife shared the position of godmother with the infant's half-sister.

The Duchess of Suffolk smiled at her niece as she passed by. She had heard of her niece's reaction to Princess Anne and was relieved that instead of getting angry about it, Henry had comforted his daughter. It was a good thing that he treated his daughter kindly despite bastardizing her and forsaking her mother. Although the former queen of France did think Katherine and Mary should be reunited, she felt that at least if her niece continued to stay at court, it was possible that she could at least develop a sisterly bound with Princess Anne and stay in her father's good graces.

Lady Brandon had no doubt that Mary's extreme reaction to her half-sister came out of despair at learning that despite Anne giving birth to girl, her father had no intention of getting rid of her. Sadly, the King's sister doubted that even if the Pope changed his mind about his declaration, Henry would never forsake his concubine.

Her brother was too besotted with Anne Boleyn to give her up. Charles had been surprised when Henry decided to celebrate his daughter's birth; her husband, as did many others, assumed that at the very least Henry would be frustrated that he had a second daughter when Anne had promised him a son. However, Mary Brandon saw the matter differently. She was only fourteen when Katherine's first miscarriage happened just a few short months after their wedding. It had been a girl who Henry had named Katherine after her mother just as he named Anne after hers. If Mary had to guess, her brother viewed a daughter being born just ten months after his wedding as a blessing and a good omen that Anne would give birth to many healthy children unlike Katherine.

Maybe he would get a little frustrated if Anne didn't have a son next time or if she miscarried her next child but he would be patient for a few years.

The worst part was even if he did decide to discard that cheap nothing, Mary knew her brother well enough to know that he would not swallow his pride and admit he was wrong to leave Katherine, instead he would try to start a new marriage with whatever poor lady he grew fond of.

* * *

Thomas Boleyn was not pleased that his daughter had given birth to a princess instead of a prince- especially when he was sure that if his new granddaughter was a boy, he would have gotten a dukedom. However, the King was happy that Anne had a healthy daughter and even Thomas had to admit that even though she was a girl, the newest Princess was a good omen for the royal marriage.

Besides, according to his spy in Wolsey's household, the French ambassador had orders to suggest a French match no matter what the gender of Anne's baby was and once he broached the proposal publicly, it would quell any doubts that Princess Anne was unworthy for Europe's heirs. And according to Cromwell, although there were some who laughed at the Boleyn's misfortune, most were pleased to welcome the new princess, something that boded well for when a prince was born in the near future.

Princess Anne cried out as holy water was poured over her, cleansing her soul from all impurities. After saying a prayer, Archbishop Warham handed the baby girl back to her grandfather. Then the Earl of Wiltshire led the precession out of the chapel and through the corridors of the palace.

Thomas could not help but smile at his sweet granddaughter as he walked towards his daughter's rooms. She looked just like Anne did when she was babe in his arms. He had always known that his second daughter would be special but he had no idea that she would be the Queen of England. They needed to secure Anne's position with a son but Thomas could not be too unhappy with the baby in his arms. She filled him with too many found memories of his children's childhood for him to resent her even a little bit.

Elizabeth gently touched his arm as they neared the bed where both the King and Queen were lying.

"Princess Anne, Your Majesties!" the Earl of Wiltshire announced with unnecessary flourish. He laid his granddaughter in Anne's arms and then, to everyone's surprise, broke protocol to lay a kiss on his daughter's cheek. "She looks just like you did. Although she didn't make as much of a fuss when she was christened," he whispered, just loud enough for Henry and Anne to hear.

The red-haired monarch laughed good-naturedly, clapping Thomas on the shoulder while Anne just chuckled at her father's words.

As the procession left the room, the Earl of Wiltshire glanced back at three people on the bed. It was hard to tell who Henry had more affection for: his wife or his daughter. Thomas just prayed the King's love for Queen and Princess Anne continued.

He would remind his daughter that she needed a son tomorrow but for today, he would celebrate his granddaughter: the first Boleyn princess.

* * *

_**January 30 1528**_

Her first-born babe was a girl who Henry had named Katherine after her mother even though the baby was born dead. That girl was the first child the former Spanish princess had carried in her womb; the first baby she had ever miscarried. Back then, Henry held her in his arms while she sobbed over the death of their daughter, assuring her that they would have many more children to fill the empty royal nursery. He continued to hold her and comfort her when five of her next six pregnancies ended in death and sorrow, never once reproaching her for her failures.

Then his mistress Elizabeth Blount gave birth to her husband's son and Henry suddenly decided it was not his fault that he had no living Prince of Wales. A few years later, he met Anne and soon after Katherine, the barren and aging queen, was set aside for the much younger and fertile daughter of an Earl.

She was not so foolish to assume that if Anne had a daughter, Henry would be so upset that he would discard his whore and return to Katherine. But she did not think he would be so happy with receiving a girl instead of a boy that he would name his new daughter after her mother nor that he would celebrate her arrival as if he had hoped that Anne would give birth to a princess all along.

Perhaps Katherine was being a little bit unfair as Henry had been just as delighted with Mary's birth but she would have thought he would at least be displeased that he didn't have the Prince of Wales he was so convinced Anne would be able to provide for him after so many years of losing son after son with Katherine.

"The joust was canceled, Your Majesty," Ambassador Mendoza pointed out as though no jousting was a sign that Henry was furious he had a second daughter instead of a son. Upon seeing her skeptical look, he pressed on, wanting to give her some good news that would give her hope that Henry's love for his concubine was fading. "And Lady Anne will be confined in her bed for at least another month." He didn't elaborate nor did he need to: it was entirely possible that Henry would get a mistress while his wife was unable to preform her martial duties.

However, Katherine doubted that would be the case for one simple reason.

"Did he take a mistress while Lady Anne" she would never refer to that woman as queen. "was pregnant?"

Katherine would never condone adultery even if she did not believe that Henry and Anne were truly married but at the very least Henry showing an interest in a different lady would mean that the Boleyn woman's hold over him was weakening.

"No," Mendoza admitted, sounding rather displeased. After all, if the red-haired monarch couldn't be faithful to Katherine- a far worthier woman in Mendoza's humble opinion- why would be faithful to Anne?

"Then he is unlikely to do so now. He waited years to have her so he'll be fine with waiting one more month," Katherine said with a sigh. Henry was a fickle man but he clearly viewed the birth of his second daughter as a good thing and if he showed no interest in another woman, then he would wait until Anne was churched before happily returning to her bed. Not wanting to discuss her husband's affairs any longer, Katherine turned to a different subject. "Have there been any news from Rome?" she questioned hopefully.

"Nothing good I'm afraid. His Holiness, insists that Anne is the Queen of England and her daughter is a true born princess," Mendoza answered, frowning sympathetically when he saw the Spanish woman sag in despair. Of all the betrayals she had encountered over the years, it was the unexpected one from Pope Clement that hurt her the most.

"What of the Princes of Europe? What do they think of Henry's newest daughter?" Katherine asked, praying that at least her nephew was unwilling to acknowledge the so-called Princess Anne.

"Well heretics like Martin Luther are on your side, my lady," Mendoza remarked with an ounce of humor in his tone. It was rumored that the Boleyns believed in all of that heretical nonsense so it was almost funny that their ambitions inadvertently made the Catholic Church's influence stronger in England and drove a wedge between them and the reformers. "So I doubt that the heretical dukes of Germany will be calling the new baby a princess or her mother a queen any time soon. Your nephew is, of course, on your side and he will continue to plead with the Pope to put an end to this injustice. Denmark, Sweden, Portugal, Scotland and Poland seem to have take His Holiness' declaration as the truth but they have simply sent their congratulations to King Henry, nothing more. France, on the other hand, are more overt in their support." Mendoza grimaced before continuing: "If the rumors I hear are true. King Francis is offering his oldest son as a bridegroom for Anne Fitzroy."

Katherine could scarcely believe it. The gall of King Francis was appalling, he had to know that if Pope Clement ever did recant his declaration that the so-called princess would be made a bastard. And yet he was willing to risk his son marrying an illegitimate girl just so he could insult his enemy.

The worst part was once it became known that Francis was seeking to make such a match, there was no doubt that the royal houses of Europe would follow, in hopes to make an alliance with England.

And when Anne Boleyn had a son, it would be even harder for Pope Clement to see reason and even if he did eventually, Henry might not listen.

If that happened, only God could help Katherine and Mary.

* * *

Meanwhile Henry was discussing matters with his councilors.

"Both France and Spain are asking for your aide in their war," Wolsey read from his papers.

"Considering the Emperor continues to badger the Pope, trying to force him into declaring my false marriage true, I think it is safe to say that I will not be siding with Spain," Henry snapped, harrumphing at the gall of the Spaniard who used to call him uncle.

"King Francis also expresses his desire to see a marriage between Princess Anne and the Dauphin Francis," Wolsey continued. No one at the table seemed surprised as gossip traveled fast around the court and it has been known for days.

"I hope he doesn't expect me to pay my daughter's dowry in advance," Henry said coolly, scowling as he remembered how the Spanish Emperor had wanted to marry Mary-when she was still a princess- and had taken her dowry in the form of help against the French. When Emperor Charles married Isabella of Portugal, he did not pay back a farthing of the coffers he received.

Thankfully Henry had managed to gain his money back a year ago when his troops sized control over the ships left floundering on the Italian shore. But it still irked him that the man he once saw as an ally and was the cousin of his beloved daughter was such an untrustworthy knave.

"The French Ambassador assures me, he only hopes to unite France and England through the bounds of matrimony," Wolsey informed him.

"I think that the Dauphin Francis would make a good husband for Princess Anne," the Earl of Wiltshire declared with a smile. After all his granddaughter would be the Queen of France and his future grandson would be the King of England. Why wouldn't he be elated by such a prospect?

"Very well but I do not want to seem too eager so let's wait a few months before starting the negotiations," Henry decided before abruptly changing the subject. "Speaking of my daughters, the Lady Mary will be turning twelve in a fortnight and I want to celebrate by giving her a title of her own."

He had originally wanted to wait until Anne had their son before giving Mary her own peerage but he could not get his daughter's reaction to her new sister out of his head. The last thing he wanted was for Mary to feel unloved so he hoped that a title of viscount or countess would remind her of his love. However, he did not dare give her a higher title, in fear that some would insist that he was punishing Anne by making Mary a marquess or a duchess.

"Your Majesty, if I could make a suggestion," Thomas More began, trying to keep his fears under control. He could tell that Henry felt guilty about Mary's downgraded position. He had thought of this solution some time ago but he had thought it was best to wait until Henry decided that leaving Mary as simply Lady Mary was not enough before he broached this particular subject.

"Of course, Thomas, speak freely," Henry told him, smiling at his old tutor.

"I've been thinking about the Lady Mary and I remembered how you said that she had done nothing. She is a victim of circumstance, born from a marriage of good faith. Perhaps you could ask Pope Clement to allow your daughter to return to her title as princess," More explained.

The men sitting around the council table became apprehensive, fearing Henry's reaction. Those who supported Katherine and Mary were nervous that the red-haired monarch might lash out at More for suggesting such a thing while those who supported Anne were worried that he might agree which would surely weaken Anne and her children's positions.

"I do not think that would be wise," Henry said stiffly, a dark look on his face. If he died sometime after declaring that Mary was a princess, Spain's troops would be at England's doorstep to make sure that his wife and daughter did not hold the crown. Dear Lord, what if he died tomorrow and that happened anyway. Little Annie was just a babe: she would not be able to protect her throne. "In fact, gentlemen, I want to make sure that there can be no question that my children by Anne are my true heirs."

More flinched, knowing that he had unintentionally just caused Lady Mary to lose her chance at receiving her own peerage.

Henry sighed. He wanted to honor his oldest daughter but he could not do so now. Not while he had no son and that dratted woman's prophecy of him dying once he had a second daughter which would cause England to be torn apart by civil war was still fresh in everyone's mind.

His father had hoped to put an end to the civil war in England and he had already let the old King Henry down by failing to secure the Tudor Dynasty. Henry could not do anything else that would put his legacy and England in jeopardy.

However, that didn't mean he disagreed with Sir More. After all, Mary was not to blame for all of this. Why should she have to lose the title she was born with because of her mother's lies?

His daughter was a charming, intelligent young lady, a good wife for any king. When Anne had a son or maybe two sons, Henry would send a letter to the Pope, requesting that his pearl be reinstated as a princess.

She deserved to a queen, he just couldn't allow her to be the queen of England.

* * *

_**February 23 1528 **_

"You are a month old, my sweet girl," Anne cooed at the baby in her arms. Her father was right, Annette (as Mary liked calling her) was her mirror image except she had Henry's eyes.

Annette giggled as her mother bounced her up and down.

"Your Majesty, it's time for her feeding," the nursemaid said, her hands fidgeting at her sides as she did not want to seem like she was eager to take the baby from the queen.

Anne glowered, feeling that her time with her daughter was too short and she hated not being able to feed her daughter from her own breasts because queens did not do that. She still grudgingly handed Annette over and waved goodbye as the nursemaid took the infant back to the nursery.

"I'm sure they will bring her back soon," Mary whispered in her ear, patting her shoulder sympathetically.

Before Anne could reply, the familiar call of 'make way for the King' was heard and minutes later Henry strode into the bedchamber. Mary quickly took her leave, knowing that the married couple wanted their alone time.

"Where is my Annette? I was hoping to see both of my Annes today," Henry mock-complained after sharing a sweet kiss with his wife.

"I am afraid that you just missed her. She returned to the nursery to be fed," Anne explained before adding with a teasing tone. "I hope that I will be good enough company while we wait for her to be brought back."

"Always, my sweetheart, always," Henry assured her with a fond chuckle before sobering. "Anne, may I ask your opinion of something that has been weighing on my mind for these past few weeks?"

"My opinion has been given more times than anyone has actually asked for it," Anne jested before putting her hand on Henry's arm, gently stroking his sleeve. "Is it about Mary or that awful Barton woman?"

She had heard rumors about the mad nun's prophecy and while she didn't believe it would ever come true, it was still a dark cloud hanging over her and her daughter's head. Her father had told her about Henry and More's discussion and while she didn't see the harm in giving her stepdaughter a title, she did agree that making Mary a princess ahead of Annette was simply asking for trouble.

"A bit of both perhaps," Henry said, his brow creasing. "I want to make my daughter happy but I fear what will happen to you and Annette were I ever to die-"

"You will not die. I won't let you!" Anne declared fiercely, not even wanting that terrible thought to be completed.

Her husband beamed at her. "If only it were that easy," he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her fingers. "In any case, my love, what do you think of me giving Mary a title or making her a princess again?"

What could Anne say to that? She could not tell him that she feared that the twelve-year-old girl might her death and she would rise an army against her own blood in order to wrestle the crown of England from her half-sister's hands.

To be so afraid of a child was ridiculous and Henry would find it insulting that Anne would think his daughter would turn against his loved ones.

Henry feared that Katherine or her allies would use Mary against his daughter and wife but he would never believe that Mary herself would be capable of being anything but his sweet lovely daughter.

"I am sure that she would be very happy with either," Anne said thoughtfully, privately wondering if Mary would accept being a princess with her stepmother still the queen. "However, I do fear that wrong-minded people might believe that your daughter takes precedent over our children." Feeling slightly guilty, she added: "But if you really want to do this for your daughter then you should."

"I think that I will wait a few years," Henry decided with a sigh before giving Anne's hand a squeeze, not wanting her to think he was angry at her honest answer. After all, they both feared the same thing even if Anne was slightly more paranoid.

* * *

_**June 2 1528 **_

Her husband had returned to her bed in early March and they had spent every night together but Anne had not dared believe that she would get pregnant again so soon after giving birth.

After all she had the mistake of being too prideful in her own abilities the last time and God had punished her for her arrogance-even if Princess Annette was the sweetest and most adorable punishment she had ever received.

She had missed her courses twice but she had yet to feel sick in the mornings so she did not send for a doctor or a midwife. Anne feared getting her hopes up prematurely so she did not share her suspicions with anyone not even her mother.

However, as she rode her horse by Henry's side, she could not help but feel a little nauseated and was beginning to regret not seeing a physician before agreeing to join Henry on this outing.

"Are you all right, Anne? Do you not feel well? Should we head back?" Henry quizzed her, his brow furrowing in worry at how pale and queasy his wife looked.

The queen swallowed the bile in her throat that lurched upwards when her horse walked down the bumpy path. Then she shook her head, a strained smile on her face.

The group that they were traveling with was George, Anthony Knivet and Charles Brandon. While Charles and Anthony were joking and jesting with each other, George seemed was uncharacteristically quiet and Anne was sure she knew why.

While her brother and his wife did not have the best of marriages, they had grown closer when Jane fell pregnant and was due to give birth in July. George for all his playfulness was anxious to be a father and had asked to leave court tomorrow.

"Tell me, George, what will you name your offspring?" Anne questioned, ignoring how her stomach seemed to be doing cartwheels.

"Either Henry or Anne, of course," George stated, his eyebrows shooting up in mock-surprise as if there could not be any other names to choose from.

"As flattered as we are, I think that there might be too many Henrys and Annes that it might be confusing," Henry pointed out with good cheer. "After all your daughter will be a companion to our little Anne."

"Besides I think Mary might feel a bit left out," Anne remarked, thinking of her sister who was currently spending time with her husband and children. "Perhaps you should name your son George or your daughter Jane."

"I shall think on that, Your Majesties," George promised.

After having a picnic under a tree, the group made their way back to London only to stop at the gates, realizing something was terribly wrong.

"Dear God what is that awful smell?" Anne asked, feeling as though she was about to lose her lunch on the side of the road and she quickly covered her face with her handkerchief.

"It smells like vinegar," Anthony remarked, looking worried.

Henry tried to approach the gate only for the guard to stop him.

"You must stay back, Your Majesty, it is the sweat," the man told him. "It is spreading quickly."

"We must return to the palace at once," Henry commanded just seconds before Anne leaned to the other side of her horse and let loose the vomit she had been trying to keep down for the past few hours. "And I think that Dr. Linacre better take a look at you just in case, my love."

* * *

_**June 25 1528**_

The sweat was running rampant through England and Anne was pregnant.

Henry had sent Mary and Annette away to Katherine's residence as it was the furthest from the sickness in London. On Wolsey's advice, he had disbanded the court, feeling that for everyone's safety, there needed to be as few people as possible at the Palace of Placentia.

Learning about Anne's second pregnancy should have been a joyous occasion but instead it was filled with fear and uncertainty. They both remained away from each, having contact with only a few attendants.

Just when it looked like things couldn't get worse, Henry's manservant dropped dead and an hour later, Anne's maid became sick with the sweat. They had to flee from the palace before they could catch it.

However, Henry knew that he could not leave London completely as they needed their king but he could not risk getting ill so he ordered her to go to her family's house immediately.

Unfortunately, Anne was not so easily cowed despite her fear of the sweat.

"I am your wife and queen. My place is at your side. Either we leave together or we stay here," she declared.

"Anne, please, you have to go to safety for our children's sake. Our daughter and our son need their mother alive and well," Henry implored her, struggling to keep his temper under control.

Didn't she realize how much danger she was in? If the sweat took Anne and their unborn baby, he wasn't sure how he would cope without them. He couldn't lose them, not when everything was going so well.

Death was everywhere and he was just a mere mortal. He couldn't protect his children from the sweat.

What if Hal Fitzroy, his only living son, died at such a tender age? He would never forgive himself if Mary died as a bastard believing that her father did not love her. And sweet Annette was only a babe who he wanted to see grow and flourish.

"What about you? Don't they need their father alive and well?" Anne questioned, reaching out to touch his cheek. Her eyes widened as her hand continued up his face to his forehead.

Henry suddenly realized that the room seemed to be swirling. He could see Anne's mouth moving but there seemed to be no words coming out of it.

Then it all went dark.


	4. Lights in the Darkness

_**June 25 1528**_

One minute everything was fine and then the next moment, her world was crumbling before her eyes.

Anne was not sure how she had managed to remain calm when Henry fell to the floor, covered in sweat. She was not sure if she had screamed in horror or if the guards had heard the red-haired monarch's body hit the floor and that's why they came running in. She was not sure how she did not collapse into hysterics as her only remaining lady led her away from the physician examining her husband.

God must have been watching over Anne that day, keeping her from losing her baby and becoming sick with the sweat herself. She was determined not to give in to the fear that was coursing through her veins, her husband had decreed that she was to be regent if he was indisposed for one reason or another and she would not let him down.

She refused to flee to Hever. Henry had said that someone needed to stay in London and with him being indisposed, Anne needed to be the that person.

"You can't be serious, Anne, you must get to safety," Thomas Boleyn demanded. "Think about the baby and yourself." He would not speak to her too harshly in fear that the argument would cause her to miscarry or worse become sick.

"Henry wasn't about to run away so why should I?" Anne demanded.

"Anne, I beg of you, for the sake of your son and your daughter, at least let us go to Hever until the sicknesses has abated. If you die, who is going to protect your daughter's crown?" Thomas questioned pointedly.

His daughter chewed her lip thoughtfully before nodding as she stroked her stomach.

"I will go to safest place near London and I expect to be informed immediately when I can return," Anne ordered regally. She would leave Surrey so she could keep her children from becoming orphans but she refused to leave England without a leader. She was the regent and she would not allow anyone to say that she cared more about herself than her people's well being.

* * *

Miles away at Hever, while Anne was worrying about her husband, her sister-in-law was afraid for not only her life but also the lives of her unborn babies. Because she was carrying multiple babies, Jane had gone into confinement early and she had been doing all right for the first eight months of her first pregnancy. However she feared that with the epidemic going around she was in great danger, a fear that only worsened as her labor pains started.

"I can't do it," Jane sobbed. "It's too much pain. Oh God, what if the babies catch the sweat from me."

"It's going to be all right," Elizabeth Boleyn said soothingly, holding her daughter-in-law's hand. It was impossible to tell if Jane's sweaty forehead was because of the strain of childbirth or if she really did have the sweat. Despite knowing that Jane would be contagious if she did have that horrible disease, Elizabeth did not leave; she would die before she left Jane and her grandchildren go through this alone.

"How can you say that! I have doomed my babies and you!" Jane screamed.

"The first baby is crowning!" the midwife called.

Once the child was out of it's mother's womb she quickly cut the umbilical cord and hurried the newborn out of the room just in case their mother did have the sweat. The Boleyn's doctor was waiting in the other room and he would inspect and clean the child so the midwife could go back to tending to Jane.

The second baby was born forty-five minutes later. Sweat or no sweat, Elizabeth doubted Jane would be able to safely deliver a third baby as she had lost so much blood already; unfortunately, she had no choice but to keep punishing despite barely having the energy to scream.

"Save the baby and let me die. Please," Jane whimpered as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

"No! Jane! Stay with us!" Elizabeth shouted, terrified.

"We have to preform a c-section immediately," the midwife told her before summoning the doctor.

Elizabeth could not bear to watch so she left the room to be with her worried son.

* * *

An hour and a half later, the physician walked outside of the room, his expression grim.

"How is she? Is she all right?" George demanded. He had heard all three cries of his children so he assumed that they were healthy. However, his mother had mentioned that Jane had fainted in the middle of giving birth and he feared that the c-section would damage her already fragile health even more. Although he had not loved Jane, George had cared for her and once she became pregnant, he had found himself excited at the prospect of becoming a father and he was sure that Jane would make a wonderful mother.

"I am sorry to tell you that your wife died due to blood loss. We couldn't save her," the doctor said sadly. "She had one more boy in her womb. I do not think the fourth baby is long for this world."

George could feel his heart breaking. God, he was to lose his wife and newborn son on the same day. "What of the other three? Will they live?" he asked, a plea in his voice. He closed his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. He had been so happy when he learned that Jane had given birth to a daughter and overjoyed when she was joined by a by a second girl. Now he had two daughters and two sons but no wife to complete their family.

"I cannot say for certain especially when there is so much sickness going around. Only time will tell."

"Why don't we go to the nursery and we can go see them," Elizabeth suggested, resting her hand on her son's sleeve.

"No, I should go. Anne needs me," George said, tearing his sleeve from his mother's hands.

Elizabeth stared open-mouthed at her son. How could he abandon his four newborn and motherless children like that?

"George, you are all they have, you cannot just leave them," she admonished him.

"I can't look at them right now, Mother, please don't make me go see them," George pleaded with her, his voice strained.

He couldn't explain it but he was afraid. Afraid that if he saw his children, he would never be able to bear the grief he would feel if they died. It was ridiculous but he was unsure of how much tragedy he could take.

"Very well. Will you at least name your motherless babes?" Elizabeth demanded, glaring at her son.

"Jane, Mary, Thomas and George. I should go pack, I'll leave in the morning," George said, not meeting his mother's eyes. He didn't need her to tell him he was a coward; he was already aware of it.

* * *

The newest George Boleyn died just a few hours after his mother. When Elizabeth passed her son's room, she could hear loud weeping from inside it. But he was not the only one who needed comfort so she continued to walk until she reached the nursery where her remaining grandchildren were sleeping, blissfully unaware that they had lost both their mother and their brother in a matter of hours.

* * *

_**June 28 1528**_

Henry was thirty-nine today and he languished in Greenwich Palace, barely clinging to life. There were rumors that the sweat was God's punishment for the King forsaking his true wife and daughter replacing them with another. But if that was true, surely it would Anne who was sick instead of Henry.

Katherine was terrified about what Henry's death would mean for her and Mary. They could fight for Mary's right to the crown. In fact, as her mother had done in Spain, even if the Pope did not recant his declaration, Katherine would gladly raise the troops to battle for her daughter's throne as winning would prove that God was in fact on her side and that Clement and her husband were… mistaken in their views.

But would it be worth it? The sweating sickness was still spreading through England, ravaging countless lives. Countless more Englishmen would perish in the civil war that would happen if the Boleyns and Howards chose to fight for a Queen of their blood despite her being just a babe.

What if one of Anne's relatives or even Anne herself if she was paranoid enough, decided to get rid of her daughter's rival permanently just in case Henry died? Katherine was sure that there were spies in her manor who reported everything she and Mary said to their masters, what if one of them murdered the twelve-year-old girl just so her seven-month-old half-sister would be the undisputed queen of England?

Despite everything he had done, Henry was the only person who could keep Mary safe and end this horrible mess without bloodshed. They were at a stalemate right now and only Henry being alive and well would keep the fragile peace from being broken.

_God please forgive my husband's sins and spare him from death. _Katherine prayed that Henry would get better so he could protect his kingdom from civil war and protect his daughter from harm.

* * *

Deciding that was enough prayer for the time being, Katherine left her rooms and went to visit her daughter. The town they were in had been lucky enough to avoid the sweat and considering how long it had been since she had seen Mary, Katherine was pleased that she got to spend so much with her daughter without fear of either of them growing ill.

They sat together as Mary showed her mother how much better she had gotten playing the lute. But throughout her performance, Katherine noticed that Mary seemed to be lost in her thoughts and she finally told their ladies to leave so she could ask Mary what was bothering her.

"What troubles you, my dear heart?" Katherine asked soothingly even though she could already guess the answer.

"Why didn't Papa heed Elizabeth Barton's prophecy? If he had just admitted to making a mistake and asked the Pope to reinstate you and me to our rightful positions, he wouldn't be dying," Mary ranted, feeling unusually angry at her father. "Now he'll die and I'll have to dispose my own sister in order to keep England safe from the Boleyn witch and her vile kin."

Katherine stared at her daughter in dismay. It wouldn't be until later would she realize that Mary was simply covering her own feelings of anguish with ire. But in this moment, she was completely unnerved by her daughter's words.

"How dare you say something like that! How can you talk about your king not mention your own father dying so casually? How can your even think like that?" she demanded, furious at what she perceived as callousness. Perhaps her daughter took after Henry in more ways than one.

"But Mama-" Mary began, trying to explain that it was not that she wanted her father dead, it was that she believed that he could have avoided getting sick if he hadn't married Anne Boleyn.

"No!" Katherine interjected sharply. Then she softened when she saw the tears in her daughter's eyes. She embraced Mary and gentled her tone. "You should not be berating your father for his actions. You should be praying that he lives so there is no bloodshed. England is already suffering and a good queen should always do what's best for her people including waiting until her father sees the error of his ways." _And the Pope as well. _She added inwardly.

"I understand, Mama," Mary told her softly. Her mother's words reminded her of something that her father had said that day she had asked him why she was no longer the Princess of Wales, accusing him of punishing her for being female.

_You would make a wonderful queen but this is not Spain and I fear that there will be bad men who will refuse to accept a woman on the throne. England cannot survive another civil war. I must have a son to take the throne after me. It pains me to hurt you, Mary, but I must do what is best for my kingdom._

Although she was a young girl when this particular event happened, she remembered rumors that the Duke of Buckingham was plotting to kill her father and take the throne for himself. Would he have done so if her mother had a son? Perhaps he would have still carried out his treasonous plot regardless of what gender her father's heir was but the fact remained that there was royal blood in England that could try to take her crown from her if they felt they had a better claim.

Perhaps it would be better if Anne had a son especially when Pope Clement had blessed her stepmother's marriage to her father. And if her father did die, perhaps it would be better for her country if she chose to stand aside rather than let a civil war destroy what was left of England.

That being said, Mary would cut out her own tongue out rather than letting anyone think that she believed the vicious slander that was spread about her mother. Katherine of Aragon was not a liar and if she said that her marriage to the former Prince Wales was unconsummated, then that was what happened.

Her mother would fight for her right to become queen of England even though she did not want any blood being spilled and Mary would defend her mother's reputation until her dying breath.

"We will get through this together," Katherine promised her daughter, planting a kiss on the top of her hair.

"I know we well," Mary said determinedly. "We come from a line of strong woman."

* * *

_**July 1 1528**_

It was nearly over. They had decreed that court could be reestablished in London again. Wolsey had given Henry and Anne Hampton Palace as a wedding gift and it would be used for those who were able to travel to court.

There were still a few men (including her husband) who were still sick and they remained locked in their homes. Henry was still in Greenwich and Anne prayed that he would soon become well. Because Kimbolton had not been overcome by the sweat, Anne decided that was the safest place for her daughter to be until the dangers of the sweating sickness was truly over.

Her father disagreed.

"Anne, leaving your daughter in the home of the enemy might not be a good idea," he argued. "If the King…" He could not finish his sentence as it was treason to even think about the monarch's death. However, Thomas doubted that there was a person in all of England who wasn't thinking those thoughts from the moment Henry became another victim of the sweat.

"Give the Princess Dowager some credit, Father, she would never harm a helpless baby," Anne said firmly. Even though she still feared that Mary would one day be her death, the queen knew that the twelve-year-old girl would not be dangerous even if she was used to weaken her siblings' claim to the throne of England.

"If it makes you feel better, Father, I can ride to Kimbolton and stay there until Princess Annette is able to return to London," George suggested, thinking that as the uncle of the princess, no one would be suspicious that he was there as a spy instead of simply being there for his sweet niece.

There was another reason why George wanted to leave: fearful of the sweat Jane had gone into labor early and it was entirely possible that she would have died from it had she not bleed out from her excruciating childbirth. The was some irony that instead of dying of the sweat like so many of her countrymen were dying from, the Countess of Rochford died because of complications during giving birth. She had now left her husband a widower and their children motherless.

Anne gave her brother a disapproving look, clearly thinking it would be better for him to go back to Hever where his newborn children were than playing spy for their father. But she said nothing which was something George was thankful for; he was feeling enough guilt already.

"Very well," Thomas agreed. "But we must make plans in case the worst thing happens and your son is born a king."

Everyone was so certain that Anne would have a son just as they had cheerfully predicted it would be a prince when she was pregnant with Annette. But for once, the hope that she would have a son did not come from fear for her position if she failed again. If a second princess was born, Katherine of Aragon's loyal allies would use it to strengthen Lady Mary's claim to the throne. A son would show everyone that God favored Henry's second wife and therefore those who were not firmly on Mary and Katherine's side would not rise against him especially when they still had the Pope's blessing.

"When it has become safe for people to move about the city, I want food and clothes to distributed amongst the poor," Anne commanded. She had also decided that when the sweating sickness had left for good, she would visit a poorhouse herself, to find out what she could do to help them. Anne was fully aware that her father would object on the grounds that she was a queen and queens did not mingle with the common folk. She would deal with his disapproval when the time came. "How soon can there be a meeting of the privy council?"

"Wolsey and Suffolk are still recovering from their illness. Norfolk and Oxford will be here in a few days," Thomas informed her, frowning slightly. He had half hoped that the cardinal would die from the sickness so he could be rid of that hated son of a butcher who had risen far too high.

"Very well, do you have any other suggestions on what to do, Father?" Anne asked as she racked her brain for something, anything else she could do aside from simply waiting for everything and everyone to get better.

"Arrange a mass for those who died in the sweat," Thomas replied. "However, I would suggest waiting until we have the final numbers. I will speak to Cromwell and Audley about writing papers that will declare your daughter Queen just in case the worst thing happens."

"God willing the worst won't happen," Anne whispered, terrified that she would lose her husband after only a year of marriage. It would be heartbreaking for her and devastating for England.

"Leave it to me, Anne, perhaps you should go rest," Thomas suggested to her gently, not wanting his daughter to overwork herself in her delicate condition.

Anne opened her mouth to refuse when a page entered.

"I have a message for the Viscount of Rochford," he announced.

George stared at the man apprehensively, not moving to take the envelope in his hands, fearing the message inside. His father took it instead, dismissing the page before opening and reading the contents of the envelope.

Upon finishing it, the Earl of Wiltshire turned to his son with a grave look on his face. "Thomas has gotten sick with a fever," he reported, knowing that his eight-day-old grandson was not strong enough to survive this illness.

"Well I should go pack. I'm sure Princess Annette will want to see her uncle," George declared tonelessly, practically sprinting out of the room before his sister and father could say another word.

"George, what about your two daughters!" Anne shouted after him but if her brother heard her, he ignored her.

"Let him go, Anne, everyone grieves differently," Thomas told her gently. "He has lost his wife and two sons in a matter of days. It's hard thing to get over."

"I would understand him bottling up his emotions if he wasn't punishing his children by ignoring them," Anne snapped.

Thomas sighed. Anne wouldn't know what it was like to lose a child who had barely lived. He prayed that she never would know that pain.

* * *

_**July 4 1528**_

_I fear that the King does not have long to live. _

Dr. Linacre had made his report grimly and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Warham had been summoned to administer Henry's last rites. The red-haired monarch had fallen asleep so physically exhausted and drained that he too assumed that he would not wake up in the morning.

But God worked in mysterious ways and in the early hours of dawn, a groom had come in to find Henry sitting up, demanding food to brought to him at once. His servant had run to get the physician and then afterwards made his way through the empty kitchen to fetch some meat that thankfully was only a few days old.

"Your fever has broken, Your Majesty, you are going to get better," Dr. Linacre assured him, sounding relived as Henry was sure that all of England would be.

If he had died, he had no doubt that Katherine would immediately ask her dratted nephew for help stealing the throne from Anne and his children. The results would have been catastrophic. But thankfully it wouldn't happen because God had saved him and he would live to see the birth of his legitimate son and he would get to watch all four of his children grow up with his adoring wife by his side.

Anne had written him countless letters that the only remaining groom had dutifully read to Henry as he lay in his bed. He was elated to know that she, their baby, his son, and his two daughters continued to live. Soon he would be able to return to them.

"How long will I be stuck in this bed?" Henry demanded as he tore into a chicken leg greedily.

"I would just you stay here at least a month until you have returned to your full strength and health, Your Majesty," the doctor replied.

Henry groaned, hating the fact that he would be stuck in bed like invalid especially for such a long time. But if he wouldn't dare ignore his physician's warnings as he feared that if he did, he might become sick again and this time he might not be lucky enough to recover.

_I'll be home soon, Anne, I promise. _

* * *

Kimbolton Castle was spacious manor where George could avoid the two enemies of his family if he wanted to. Truthfully, the childish part of him enjoyed the look of irritation on the mother and daughter duo whenever he called Katherine the Dowager Princess of Wales or the offended look when he greeted the twelve-year-old girl by the title of Lady. They should be used to it but perhaps it was the fact that George was the new queen's brother that just made the entire ordeal just a tiny bit harder for the two of them to deal with. He was sure that it was even more aggravating that they had to play gracious host to him.

However, having lost his wife, two of his four children made George not wish to do anything but sulk in his rooms without having to interact with anyone. The lone exception was his niece.

Seeing his niece gave him hope that when he returned to Hever, maybe Janey and Mary (he would half to consult his sisters on possible nicknames) would be alive and well. He looked at Princess Annette and wondered if his daughters looked like her. Dear God, it had been twelve days since they were born? He had not even seen them; what sort of father was he?

"Your cousins had two brothers who both died as did your aunt," George remarked as he rocked a sleeping Anne back and forth. "I keep fearing that they will die as well and I'll be left with nothing. I never saw their brothers and yet their deaths did not hurt me any less. Am I being a fool, Annette?"

The princess gurgled and her uncle could not help but think that was a yes.

"Perhaps you are right," George said with a sigh before letting out a sardonic chuckle and smiling tearfully. "Boleyn girls are so very strong. Mary has Cathy and Anne has you. I have no doubt that both of my nieces will be just like their mothers when they grow older. Cathy's father is dead and you… well hopefully not. But I'm all my girls have left."

But still, George was afraid of going home and losing the only two lights left in his dark world. He had been falling in love with Jane and he would have loved George and Thomas so much. But his sons had died and he was left with this empty numbness of his heart.

He needed more time before he could face his daughters.

* * *

_**July 5 1528**_

_To my dearest Anne, Queen of my heart as well as England, _

_I dreamt of you as I lay there in my sickbed. I remember walking towards the light until I heard you calling for me, begging for me not to leave you. Then you grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the light, telling me that it was not my time and you would not let me go. _

_Then I woke up and my fever had broken. You saved me, Anne, I know you did. Just as you promised me all those months ago, you refused to let me die. God saved me just as He protected you and our son. _

_I will be trapped here for two months and I shall spend every waking day, thinking of you and our children. Write to me, Anne, for it was my only comfort when I was sick and it will be something for me to look forward to while I am stuck here. When I am better, I shall ride to court and take your in my arms, kissing your sweet ducky lips, trailing kisses down your lovely neck. _

_Until then, my darling wife. _

_Yours forever and for always, Henry Rex. _

Anne's eyes glistened as she read her husband's letter, her fingers lightly caressing the words written on it. When she had received the news late last night that Henry was alive, she had been overcome with emotions. To know that her husband was not going to die and would be home in two months lifted a burden off of Anne's shoulders.

"It's over, Father, Henry is coming home," Anne whispered as she folded the letter and held it close to her heart.

"The Sweat is over but our work is not," Thomas pointed out. "While His Majesty is quarantined, you are still regent. The mass will be tomorrow. I have arranged for Thomas Cranmer to lead it."

Anne frowned, knowing full well why her father had chosen Cranmer of all priests to preform mass.

"Really Father? Now is not the time to proceed with religious reforms. We can't stir up controversy after a crisis," Anne snapped.

Thomas glared at her, annoyed that she would think he'd be so foolish. "If I wanted controversy, I would have asked Robert Barnes to do it," he said coolly. Unfortunately, Barnes was one of the many Lutherans who did not support the King's new marriage. Something Thomas hoped would change once Anne had a son. "Cranmer is of the new faith and loyal to us. He won't be doing anything different but he will be making sure to remind the people that God has saved the King and blessed you and your daughter so you may bring a golden age to England."

Her father had a bigger goal in mind, Anne was sure of it, but she decided not to dwell on it. She would leave him to his ambitions while she focused on other matters for the time being.

She would first send a letter to Queen Margaret of Scots, assuring her that her brother was alive and would recover from his sickness. She would also send a letter to Kimbolton, summoning not only Princess Annie and her brother back to court but Lady Mary as well; perhaps she should even send an invitation to the Princess Dowager Katherine as she was sure her stepdaughter would not wish to be separated from her beloved mother.

A letter would be sent to Hever would be sent as well and Anne was fully prepared to lock George in the nursery if that was what it took to get him to actually bond with his newborn daughters.

Anne pressed Henry's letter to her protruding stomach as though she hoped the baby could read it through her skin and her dress. The danger of the sweat was finally over, and Henry was alive and well. Although they had lost many people, including those they had been close to, they had still lived through it.

Everything was going to be all right.


	5. Overrun by Boleyns

**Anyone who finds the reference to my favorite song in Hamilton gets a virtual cookie.  
**

* * *

_**July 8 1528 **_

"My sweet sister, how are you holding up?" Anne inquired the minute Mary arrived at the queen's apartments. Her husband had passed away with the sweat, leaving poor the oldest Boleyn girl a widow.

"Sad by our loses but honestly I am more concerned about how Cathy and Hal are doing than I am willing to let myself grieve," Mary replied earnestly. Sir William Carey had been a good husband to her even if he was dreadfully boring. Despite not being in love with him, Mary would mourn the death of father of her children.

"Well at least one of my siblings has their priorities straight," Anne grumbled, as she sat down, her back beginning to ache.

"Anne, please, everyone grieves differently," Mary told her gently, unknowingly parroting what their father had said.

The auburn-haired woman pulled a face, shaking her head. "He can grieve all he wants to but not at the expense of his daughters," she proclaimed passionately.

Mary sighed but nodded her head in agreement. Although she believed that their brother simply needed time to process this great tragedy, his refusal to even meet his soon to be one-month-old daughters was nothing short of shameful.

George had lost his wife and two sons but he still had two daughters who needed their father. However, in her opinion, it would be better to let George work through his emotions instead of simply scolding him. Unfortunately, she doubted she could stop her sister from doing so.

"Just be gentle when you talk to him," Mary implored her.

Anne smirked at her. "Who says I'll be saying anything?" she said, a mischievous and determined glint in her eyes.

* * *

They made for quite a group in the carriage: the Viscount of Rochford was sitting in one seat, holding his niece on his lap, not even paying attention to the two women sitting in the adjacent seat. Katherine and Mary were side by side, not feeling comfortable to talk in front of George even if it was just a light chitchat. On the other hand, it seemed that George could not stop gushing over his niece.

"Look at her, isn't she the most perfect princess you have ever seen?" George questioned. "She will be someone's beautiful queen when she grows up."

If it weren't for the loving smile on his face or the fact that he had not looked up when he spoke those words, Katherine might have thought he was mocking her and Mary, trying to upset them or get them to saying something bad about his niece so he could run to King Henry with tales of how the former queen and princess had insulted the daughter he insisted on calling princess. Whatever his intentions, that didn't mean he wasn't being insensitive. The sad look on her daughter's face was enough to make the former queen eager to change the subject.

"And what of your daughters, Lord Rochford? Are they not just as lovely?" she asked, before realizing her own insensitivity. George Boleyn may have gotten two daughters but he had lost two sons and his wife.

Immediately George's head snapped up at the mention of his girls, the ones he had not met yet. "They are," he replied in a strained voice, trying to keep himself from snapping at the former queen.

Katherine had no idea that George had not laid eyes on his daughters and that his anger was at his own cowardice. She believed that she had reminded him of what he had lost in the process of getting those two daughters. Although she viewed all the Boleyns as her enemies that did not give her an excuse to be rude.

"I apologize if I have hit a nerve, my lord, that was not my intention to do so. I know what it is like to have suffered such terrible losses," Katherine began, leaving out the part where she had lost her husband, not to death, but to George's sister. "I just think it is better to focus on the child who survived rather than to dwell on the ones who did not." With that, she embraced her daughter, kissing the top of her head.

The death of six babies had nearly killed Katherine as did their father's betrayal but Mary made her life worth living and she would never stop doting on her beloved daughter.

"Wise words," George remarked, a faraway look in his eyes.

None of them said a word after that. Only Princess Anne's gurgling and the horse's hoofbeats kept the rest of their journey to Hampton castle from being completed in silence.

* * *

By the time they arrived at Hampton Palace, it was already becoming dusk. There were only a few members of the court there to greet them. Anne stood in front of the crowd, wearing the Queen's jewels as though she wanted to remind Katherine and Mary of her stolen status.

Katherine could see the frown on her daughter's face and quickly grabbed her hand as she curtsied to Anne just in case Mary chose to snub Anne in front of everyone. The Spanish woman may not view Anne as the true queen and it may have been a blow to her pride to be submissive to a woman who was below her in both rank and bloodline but she did not want to cause trouble for herself or Mary by being rude especially so publicly. Thankfully Mary followed her example albeit reluctantly.

"Princess Katherine, Lady Mary, I am pleased to welcome you back to court. I cannot thank you enough for taking care of my dear daughter during this epidemic," Anne said gratefully, her eyes lighting up when George placed the six-month-old daughter in her arms.

"We thank you for inviting us and we hope are glad to hear that His Majesty has been blessed by God as have you," Katherine added quickly, not wanting anyone to think that she had wished death on Anne especially not when she was pregnant. She also prayed that no one would take notice of her deliberately not calling Anne Your Majesty.

Luckily it seemed that Anne just wanted to spend time with her daughter as she merely gave both Katherine and Mary a winning smile before requesting her father to show them to their apartments.

* * *

His sister was up to something. The way she had requested he join her as they brought Annette to nursery and the fact that she had give Annette to Nan Seville to carry while she kept a tight grip on his arm made him almost certain that she was up to something. And he had a good guess of what was waiting for him in the nursery.

George wanted to run. God damn him, he wanted to stop in the middle of the corridor and refuse to move. But he could not do so. Anne's ladies had accompanied them and he was not about to embarrass himself especially when he knew that if he tried to do either of these things, Anne would have no problem with taking him to task for being such a shabby father in front of everyone.

"Anne, please," he whispered, as they got closer to the nursery. He kept his voice low so no one would hear him. "I don't want to go."

"You sound like a child," Anne hissed, her eyes narrowed. "They are your daughters, George and I will lock you in the nursery for the entire night if I have to."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I have a crib in my chambers where Annette can sleep and I am prepared to tell the guards that under no circumstances are they to let you out unless I order it," Anne told him firmly.

"I'm beginning to think that the power of being queen has officially gone to your head," George could not help but jest.

"I'm sure people think it has already," Anne laughed, pleased to see her brother joking again.

They finally reached the nursery where Francis Bryan was waiting outside the doorway.

"Are you Anne's backup?" George questioned as Francis greeted him with a far too smug grin.

"Just in case you needed a push," Francis replied, throwing his arm around George's shoulder and practically dragging him inside the nursery.

"Traitor," George grumbled, giving his cousin a glare.

With Francis's mother as Princess Annette's governess, the two cousins had established a friendship of sorts something George was beginning to reconsider.

Anne ushered her ladies besides Nan and Mary out of the nursery before walking over to one of the cribs and scooping up one of the two girls before bringing her to George.

"This is your daughter, Mary, although I have been calling her Marian to avoid confusion," Anne introduced.

George looked down at the bundle in Anne's arms. She did not look sickly and she had light blonde hair just like her namesake. She looked like a sleeping angel. Trying to be as gentle as he could, he took his daughter out of her aunt's arms and cuddled her in his arms.

Pleased that her plan was working, Anne quickly picked up George's first-born daughter who was beginning to cry, perhaps because she sensed that her sister was no longer in her crib or maybe she was indignant that she had not been introduced to her father and was demanding her aunt bring her to him immediately.

George moved Marian slightly so he could reach his hand out towards the baby girl who had gotten his and Anne's darker locks.

"It's okay, sweetheart, your papa is here now," he breathed, caressing Jane's cheek with his finger.

As if she had understood what he was saying, Jane was quiet as her father cooed over both her and her sister.

The queen could not help but smirk in triumph.

"Don't gloat, Anne, it's unbecoming of a queen," George teased her, finding it very hard to feel angry as he studied his daughters.

"Now you have four Boleyn girls to look after, cousin," Francis laughed. "I don't know how you are going to manage."

"Six if you include Annette and Cathy," Mary pointed out.

* * *

Meanwhile Katherine was getting changed from her traveling clothes to her regular clothes. If she was a spiteful woman, she might have worn purple to remind everyone that no matter what else they could say about her, she was still royalty- born and bred a princess while Anne had only become royalty through marriage. Even if she was that vindictive, she still would never dress in a color that her poor daughter was forbidden to wear.

It galled her to have to act like Anne and her daughter were Henry's true wife and heir but she could not afford to act any other way and not just because she feared that Henry would separate her and Mary again if she did so.

According to Mendoza, heretics seemed to be on her side, using the Pope's actions as proof that the Catholic Church was corrupt. She was sure that His Holiness had annulled her marriage out of anger but she was convinced that God would make him see sense in time. However, if she spoke out against the unfairness of the entire situation, her words might be interrupted as her being against Pope Clement which might cause the people on her side to be more susceptible to Luther and his followers.

God must be testing her and Mary's faith. That had to be it. One day, Mary would be Queen and her trials would have made her stronger.

"Your Highness, one of the Queen's ladies requests an audience," María de Salinas announced, a disgusted look on her face. As Katherine's oldest friend and most loyal lady-in-waiting, it upset her to have to call her mistress by the title of Dowager Princess and to have to refer to Anne as queen.

"Thank you, Maria, I will see her," Katherine replied as she studied her appearance in the mirror to be sure she looked presentable.

Minutes later, Lady Madge Shelton came in, looking rather apprehensive as if she was nervous at being in the rooms of her cousin's rival. She curtsied shallowly and waited until Katherine nodded, giving her permission to speak.

"Her Majesty has commissioned a masquerade to be preformed to celebrate the King's miraculous recovery and she wishes to know if Lady Mary would like a part in it?" Madge explained politely. Because Mary was not of age, the invitation was addressed to her mother instead of herself.

"Well I will have to discuss it with my daughter," Katherine told her politely. "But please thank Her Majesty for the invitation and tell her that she shall have her answer by the end of today."

The lady-in-waiting nodded before making a small curtsy and backing out of the room.

Katherine had been quite shocked when she was invited to court along with her daughter- although she was very pleased- and now she was mildly surprised that Anne was including her stepdaughter in the masquerade dedicated to Henry.

According to her spies, Anne was weary of Mary at best and downright suspicious of her at worst.

However, Katherine was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Anne was reaching out and being kind to Mary instead of using Henry's devotion to treat her shabbily, then the former queen was glad.

She would never stop hoping that things would go back to the way they were but she would be pleased if she, Mary and Anne could have a peaceful coexistence.

* * *

When her mother told her of her stepmother's invitation, Mary was a little suspicious of the woman's motives. She thought that Anne surely had an agenda and she would use this masquerade as an opportunity to humiliate either her or her mother or maybe even both of them.

"I doubt that would be the case, sweetheart," Katherine assured her. Anne was not that subtle and if she wanted to humiliate them, she wouldn't be so elaborate by casting Mary in a masquerade that wouldn't even take place until King Henry had returned. "She is doing this to celebrate your father's recovery, she is more focused on him than you and me. Why don't we go see her and ask her what part she has in mind for you?" Before Mary could protest, she added: "I think your father would be happy if he saw you in a masquerade made for him."

Her daughter sighed but nodded, giving her mother an indulgent smile when Katherine patted her hair.

They walked to the Queen's apartments in silence ignoring the stares of the courtiers once people realized where they were headed. Soon there would be gossip spread throughout the court, with people laying bets on what the former queen and princess would possibly want to discuss with Anne Boleyn.

Katherine scarcely recognized her old apartments. It was filled with expensive furniture and drapery. The ladies and gentlemen were dancing and drinking. Hardly the elegant demure quietness her household had been.

The music came to an abrupt stop and those who were dancing suddenly froze looking at Katherine and Mary as if they were children caught doing something naughty. Someone must have informed Anne of their arrival because Mary Boleyn stepped out of the bedchamber, telling them that the queen was in her audience room, waiting for them there.

A little annoyed that she was being summoned by a woman she still didn't view as the rightful Queen of England, Katherine followed Lady Carey into the audience chamber of the Queen's apartments, her daughter's hand in hers.

"Katherine, Mary," Anne greeted them with a smile. If she felt odd using their Christian names instead of their titles, she didn't show it. "What may I do for you?"

"I was wondering what your masquerade was going to be about," Mary replied quickly before her mother could say that she would be participating.

"Well it's about an ill king being healed by the love of his family. I thought it was rather fitting, considering the circumstances," Anne said, a melancholy look on her face as she touched her belly.

Katherine could not help but feel sorry for her. She had certainly been dreading Henry's death but Anne must have been just as- if not more- fearful, considering Henry's death would leave her even more vulnerable than Mary. How Anne had not miscarried her baby was beyond her.

"Would I be playing the daughter?" Mary inquired hopefully, forgetting for a few moments of her dislike of her stepmother.

"Of course," Anne laughed, as though there was no reason why she wouldn't include her stepdaughter. As if she wouldn't have preferred if her daughter was the only child Henry had.

Katherine shook her head, clearing it of those spiteful thoughts. While her rival certainly had her issues with Mary, perhaps she was trying to get over them and was extending a hand of friendship towards her stepdaughter. If that was the case, the former queen would be grateful.

"That sounds wonderful," she said, beaming at her daughter who now looked excited about her part in the masquerade.

For all the hopes and prayers she made that she and Mary would return to their rightful positions as Henry's Queen and heir respectfully, Katherine would be pleased if there was no ill-will between her, her daughter and Anne.

* * *

_**July 11 1528**_

Her sister was nearly five months pregnant and although the danger of the sweat was gone, Mary still felt that now was not the time to be walking through London in order to personally bring the citizens food, money and clothes.

She realized why Anne was doing this: she had felt so useless during the sweat, feeling as though she had not been able to help England in it's time of need. And it wasn't as if Anne was actually walking to their destination alone. She had ridden in the royal carriage and now there were two guards dressed in the queen's livery and four ladies-in-waiting walking discreetly behind the three Boleyn siblings.

"I still think this is a bad idea," Mary muttered, not for the first time. "Father won't be happy when he finds out." Anne had told their father that she was resting today so he could take over the privy council, ensuring that both he and their uncle were too busy to stop the Boleyn siblings before they left.

"Like I said you're free to go," George reminded his sister, sounding more cheerful than he had been days before.

"At least let's make sure we're back before sundown," Mary said, peering up at the afternoon sky to judge the time.

"Look around and see how lucky we are to be alive right now," Anne remarked, thinking of how the sweat could have destroyed the start of the golden age she and Henry were hoping to build.

The small entourage walked down the London street, passing out bread and a few coins to the beggars they passed.

Finally, they arrived at an orphanage. Anne grimaced as she studied the building that was clearly falling apart and she could almost smell the dirt and grime. The matron was a plump woman who seemed surprised to see a highborn lady at her establishment but no less welcoming especially when she realized who Anne was.

"Your Majesty, you honor us with your presence," she greeted her with a deep curtsy.

"What is your name?" Anne inquired.

"Mathilda Brown," the woman replied, her eyes downward.

"Mistress Brown, may I see the children of your establishment?" Anne questioned, knowing that if the orphans were still ill, she couldn't risk her health or the health of her baby but hopefully there would be no danger.

Mathilda nodded dumbly, allowing Anne's entourage to enter. The interior of the orphanage was much worse than the outside. It was cramped and humid with at least two dozen children with tattered clothes and dirty faces running about.

If the visitors had not caught their attention, the aroma of the food they carried in baskets certainly did. Anne quickly signaled for her ladies-in-waiting to start unpacking the food and passing it out.

"Thank you, pretty lady," one of the boys said as Anne placed a bun in his hands before he greedily tore into the pastry.

"She's no lady, she's the queen," the girl beside him corrected him in a stage whisper much to the adults' amusement.

"Then where's her crown?" the boy challenged.

One of the matrons of the orphanage quickly stepped in before a disagreement could happen and disrupt the queen's visit.

After making sure to donate a sum of the money Anne carried with her to the orphanage and a promise that someone would be back with new toys for the children, Anne was getting ready to leave when the same boy from before came running up.

"For you, Your Majesty," he told her, holding out a broken and old toy ship. "It's all I have but I wanted you to have it because you have been really nice to us."

Anne's heart swelled as she looked at him and she bent down so she could be eye to eye with him.

"What's your name, sweet child?"

"Andrew," the boy replied.

"Well Andrew, I thank you very much but I do not want to take something so precious from you," Anne told him softly, not wanting him to think she was rejecting his gift.

"But I want you to have it. Maybe your son could play with it," Andrew suggested, causing Mistress Brown attempt to step in, in fear that his innocent words might be taken the wrong way.

"Alright, I'll tell you what. We'll trade, I'll take the ship if you take…" Anne shot her brother and sister a look, not sure what she could give the boy that would compensate for taking his toy. Then an idea occurred to her that would certainly upset three men but she could hardly care. "I shall think on it but for now, I thank you for your gift."

* * *

"Let me get this straight, an orphan boy gave you a toy ship and now you want Cardinal Wolsey to take him as his ward," Cromwell repeated, looking as though he was trying very hard not to laugh in his queen's face.

He admired her for her brains and her steadfastness. He, as did Cranmer and the small group of reformers that he frequented, knew that she would be the one who would bring the true religion to England.

When he learned that the Queen wanted to speak to him, he had gone to the her apartments immediately, ready to be of service to her. Her brother and sister were the only ones in her chambers with them.

"I do. After all, God knows that Father and Uncle always complain about, forgive me Master Cromwell, the baseborns that Wolsey takes under his wing," Anne pointed out.

"Yes but I was not eleven-years-old when I joined Wolsey's household and neither were most of the boys that he employed or was a mentor to," Cromwell said logically, not in the least bit insulted by being referred to as baseborn. It wouldn't be the first or last time someone called him that. "Furthermore I could read and write and as an orphan, I doubt he would have those abilities."

"But he can learn. I spoke to the matron and she said that Andrew was one of the most intelligent boys of his age," Anne protested.

"If Wolsey won't take him as a ward, I will," George declared suddenly, causing the three people in the room to turn and stare at him.

"Father would never allow it," Mary pointed out, picturing their father's less than thrilled reaction if George decided to adopt a boy whose parents had been too poor to take care of him let alone once he found out that Anne was advocating for the boy to be a ward of the man he hated.

"I don't care what he wants. If Anne thinks the boy is special then I want to take him in," George decided firmly.

Unlike George's sisters, Cromwell could guess why Viscount of Rochford was suddenly so determined to adopt the young boy: to fill the void that losing his infant sons had left. When Cromwell's precious daughters had died, he would have adopted a whole group of girls to try and fill the hole in his heart.

"My lady, if your heart is set on this, I would suggest allowing your brother to take the boy in. Besides this will do nothing but bolster your reputation among the common folk," Cromwell remarked, sounding slightly more cheerful.

"I suppose if I can get Henry to approve the idea, Father won't complain that much," Anne suggested.

"And you were worried about Father making controversial decisions," Mary said with a sigh.

* * *

_**July 12 1528 **_

_I cannot say what it was that drew me to that boy. Perhaps it was the thought of having a sweet boy like him- in a manner of speaking- in a few months. _

_We discussed it at length with Master Cromwell even speaking to Master Audley so we could have two lawyers' opinions. According to law, a baseborn orphan cannot be adopted by nobility but George can bring him in as the apprentice of his secretary which would allow him to remain in my brother's household. _

_My father does not know what to be more angry about, my trip to the orphanage or George's decision to accept young Andrew into his household. Astonishingly he has not demanded that my brother put a stop to it. I believe he thinks that George has gone mad with grief and will come to his senses in time. _

_Your daughter is here with her mother. They have been very courteous to me. I have received a letter from Elizabeth Blount who has agreed to send your son to court. When you return home, you will be greeted by your loving family. _

_The entire court eagerly awaits your return, my darling. It is a pity that I will be too big with child when you return because when I see you, I would love nothing more than to jump into your arms. _

_Love your Queen, your wife and your Anne. _

Henry smiled as he reread her letter, imaging her voice as if she was standing next to him, whispering in his ear.

Still feeling a bit weak, he was not allowed to leave the bed but the groom had left the tray on his bedside along with parchment, quill, ink, and pounce so he could write his own letter without going to his desk.

_Dearest Anne,_

_First things first, I hope you are not doing too much in your condition. Besides that concern of mine, it lightens my heart that you care so much about our subjects that you would go to them directly. A sweet gesture that after the epidemic will surely be met by good feeling. _

_I think my father would be horrified that I have a son of butcher as my Lord Chancellor and have given him so much power. But I think, as you do, that despite their low birth, there are shrewd minds among the baseborn and we would be fools to ignore them. _

_So if you and your brother believe that boy, Andrew, is special enough to get your patronage then he has the King's patronage as well. Perhaps when he is older, I will knight him. _

_Speaking of George, I hope he is doing better. I was most grieved to learn of his and your sister's loses. It is only thanks to God that we were not similarly devastated. I hope you will extend my condolences to both of them. _

_It pleases me that the Princess Dowager and my sweet Mary have been courteous to you, Anne. I know that Mary is a good big sister and it will be wonderful if you, Annette, Hal, Mary, our unborn son and I can be a real family. If you will indulge a moment of tenderheartedness, it is my greatest wish that Mary, our son, Annette and Hal will be as close as you are with your siblings._

_As for our newest nieces, I think that once they are old enough they shall in Annette's household. Perhaps they will join Annette when she goes to France that is if your brother can bear to part with them. I suppose I am getting ahead of myself but being stuck in this bed, all I can do is dream of the future. _

_Until we are reunited, Henry Rex _

After he finished his letter to his wife and spread the pounce on the parchment to stop the ink from spreading, Henry ran the bell which summoned his groom who-upon spotting the letter in his master's hands- quickly went to retrieve an envelope and the royal seal.

Once Henry had blown away the excess powder and making sure the ink had dried, he folded the parchment and when his groom returned, he placed in into the envelope, sealing it and handing it to his groom with orders for it to be sent to Hampton Court Palace right away.

The Palace of Placentia was not that far away from Hampton and yet the distance between him and Anne felt so wide they might as well be in separate countries. It hadn't even been a month since they saw each other last and yet he missed her so much that it felt like it had been years since he held her in his arms.

The worst part was even when he did return to the palace, he wouldn't be able to have her in the way he wanted for she was too pregnant for them to make love. It was frustrating that in nearly two years of marriage, he had spent the majority of it in his own bed.

Henry couldn't help but chuckle at his own thoughts. He was complaining because she was so fertile and get pregnant so fast that he hadn't had enough of her. He would wait for her because she was worth waiting for.

* * *

_**July 16 1528**_

Rumors were buzzing around the small court which was growing as the danger of the sweat was past and courtiers were emerging from their hiding places.

Thomas Boleyn wasn't sure if he should be happy or annoyed that people seemed to be viewing Anne's actions of going to the poorer parts of London to hand out food and clothes quite favorably.

On one hand, it was good that Anne's subjects were warming up to her especially when she was doing things the proud Katherine of Aragon would never do despite how generous she was. Once Anne's son was born, he was almost certain that his daughter's actions would cause the Spanish bitch and her dratted daughter to be nearly completely forgotten.

On the other hand, it irked that his daughter has behaved so recklessly- and in her condition too- the sweating sickness might be gone but that didn't mean she couldn't catch something from one of those filthy beggars on the streets.

And then there was the boy. A penniless orphan that was now a member of his son's household. Of course being an apprentice to the secretary of a viscount was not exactly an exalted position but the last thing he wanted was for more baseborns to start climbing the social ladder.

"You do have a point and that's why a daughter of a duke should never marry a mere knight," Elizabeth had interrupted his ranting, trying to look innocent but failing to hide the playful mocking edge that colored her tone. "And obviously, the daughter of a knight should never marry a king."

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks and he whirled around to glare at his wife. "Your father was an earl when we married and I was an earl when Anne married King Henry," he snapped as though that made much of a difference.

"And what of Cromwell? Is he not baseborn? And yet we support him," Elizabeth pointed out as she continued knitting her granddaughter's clothes.

"That is completely different. He has a shrewd mind and he will help us bring the true religion to England," Thomas snapped. "And besides unlike that son of a butcher, he knows his place."

"It's not like George is planning on naming Andrew his heir. I think the lose of his sons has only made him want to be a father figure to a boy," Elizabeth said softly, feeling sorry for her son. "Perhaps he'll be another Cromwell or Cranmer."

Thomas smiled thinking of Cranmer who had been well received by the court upon giving mass which he had hoped was a stepping stone to having Cranmer become the royal chaplain who could plant a few ideas in King Henry's head.

He sighed as returned to his brooding.

"I suppose you have a point. George can mentor the boy all he wants as long as he knows that boy is not the heir to all I have achieved. I will have to find George a new wife," he said firmly, only continuing when he saw his wife's judgmental look. "Oh don't worry, I won't start looking for another six months. I wouldn't want to seem uncaring."

"I think you might be too late. There are rumors that your heart is made of stone," Elizabeth teased.

"Yes and I have ice flowing through my veins instead of blood. I am aware of all the creative comments about me," Thomas sneered before shooting his wife a smirk. "But then is that not why you fell in love with a mere knight?"

"Or perhaps I just wanted to upset my father," Elizabeth laughed, knowing full well that if her father hadn't approved of the match, he wouldn't have paid for her dowry.

Whatever the reason was, Elizabeth Boleyn couldn't help but be proud that her daughter with Thomas was the Queen of England and she would be the grandmother of England's next king.

* * *

_**July 30 1528**_

Wolsey had dreaded to return to the palace to a court dominated by the Boleyns and Howards. Although he was thrilled that the King had survived-no doubt he'd be lucky to still have a head if the monarch had died-but it galled him that for the next month, he would have to work with two men who were hoping to bring him down especially if they used the Queen as a mouthpiece.

While Wolsey was certain he could overrule Norfolk and Wiltshire as he had the King's ear- ironically it was securing permission to marry Anne that had secured his favor- however if he argued with the Queen, he had no doubt she would tell Henry and Wolsey would gain the monarch's ire for daring to upset his beloved wife.

He prayed that Anne Boleyn was off doing womanly things, leaving her job as regent in her father and uncle's hands. Oh good gracious was he actually hoping to have to deal his enemies?

The Cardinal shook his head and entered the chamber where the privy council met and to his disappointment, the Queen was indeed there with her father sitting on her other side, talking to her in a low voice.

"Your Eminence," Thomas More greeted him, announcing to the others that Wolsey had arrived. "I am glad to see that you are well."

Out of the corner of Wolsey's eyes, he could see Wiltshire grimace as if he would have preferred that he had died of the sweat.

"As happy as I am to be alive, I am more pleased that His Majesty has escaped from the jaws of death," Wolsey said, smiling. "I can just imagine how those who believed the mad nun of Kent are reacting to his survival."

His remark received a few awkward laughs as they all realized just how close her prophecy had been to coming true.

"We are all pleased that Henry continues to get better. Dr. Linacre informs me that he will be able to return to court in a little more than a fortnight from today," Anne informed the council, practically beaming at the thought of being reunited with her husband at last. "For the meantime, I will continue to be regent and Master Cromwell, I believe that you were about to share the reports with us before Cardinal Wolsey arrived."

Cromwell nodded, shuffling through his papers.

"I'm afraid there is nothing too interesting from abroad. I have letters from the kings of Europe who offer their condolences for our loses while mentioning that God was surely looking after the royal family," the secretary began, grimacing slightly as he wondered just how genuine the Emperor's words were considering he would like nothing more than for it to be Queen Anne who was sick of the sweat and then to have died along with the baby she carried.

He was sure that everyone was of the impression that had Anne died, Henry would return to Katherine and Mary, making his baby daughter a bastard. He guessed that the opposite would happen, King Henry would grieve Anne and her unborn son's death, be more protective of Princess Anne and search for a new wife as he still had the Pope's blessing to do so.

"We should tell King Francis that his son's bride continues to thrive and that we are thankful for his words," Anne said. Although she was sure that she needed to send letters to the other monarchs who had been kind enough to send their well wishes to England but as she hoped to make her daughter a French Queen and, God willing, a French princess an English Queen she wanted to be sure to keep a warm relationship with King Francis especially if it irked the Spanish Emperor in process.

"I have good reports from nearby counties that those who survived the sweating sickness are getting better and the news that the King has survived as well as certainly reinvigorated them," Cromwell remarked with a light chuckle before becoming serious again. "There have been a few clergy that are insisting on preaching that the sweating sickness is a warning of what will happen if King Henry does not go back to the Princess Dowager Katherine and if the Pope does not declare that the marriage between them as valid. I have already sent a message to King Henry, asking him what I should do about these troublesome men."

"Why did you not consult me?" Anne asked, standing up abruptly, furious that Cromwell would speak of something this important so casually and to go behind her back at that. For his part, the secretary looked rather embarrassed.

More and Wolsey looked both disturbed and confused.

"You didn't tell her?" Norfolk snapped at his brother-in-law, looking rather apprehensively at Anne, fearing that she might throw a fit and lose her unborn son, ruining everything they had worked for.

"I wasn't aware that Master Cromwell would bring the matter up today," Thomas muttered, glaring at Cromwell as if he was the cause of this. He had not wanted cause his daughter stress with news of a group of priests and one bishop who were speaking nonsense in hopes it would cause the people to believe that God was still on Katherine and Mary's side.

"Tell me what? What have you been keeping from me!" Anne demanded. "I AM YOUR QUEEN! ANSWER ME!" she bellowed, when neither of the three men spoke.

"It's nothing, Anne. The priests under Bishop Fisher have been preaching that the sweat was an omen of what was too come if the Dowager Princess is not restored as Queen. Not many people have been flocking to their sermons," Thomas assured her. "It is minor concern that we just wanted to get the King's opinion on."

"I am the regent, Father, it should be my decision and you should have told me," Anne retorted, glaring daggers at her father. "And I think that we should call Bishop Fisher here for a debate. After all I would like to know why he seems to think that Pope Clement and His Majesty have made a mistake."

There was not a man at the table who didn't realize what Anne wanted to happen. She wanted Bishop Fisher to have to decide whether to say that he didn't think the Pope's words was irrefutable and that his King was dooming his country or for him retract his statements. Either way he would be humiliated.

* * *

_**August 5 1528**_

Henry had been furious when he learned of what Bishop Fisher had been saying. After the Mad Nun's prophecy of him dying after having a daughter was disproved, he had assumed that would the end of that nonsense. Unfortunately, he was wrong. The fact that there were supposedly pious clergymen trying to stir up trouble for him and Anne was infuriating.

They were saying that the sweat was a warning from God that he should leave Anne, big with their son, to go back to the barren wife of his dead brother who he had lived in sin with for twenty years. It was almost laughable.

However the worst part was that their blasphemous words would give false hope to Lady Mary who was having a hard time dealing with this situation already.

The red-haired monarch wanted to send Bishop Fisher and his men to the Tower of London for daring to spread such nonsense but then Anne had sent him a letter, requesting permission to invite the Bishop to a friendly debate.

A debate that would corner him to a point where he would either have to outright state that the King and the Pope were fools or he would have to recant his words against Henry and Anne's marriage.

_Dearest Anne, _

_As much as I would love to send that wolf-in-priest's clothing to the Tower for a long stay, I admit I would enjoy humiliating a man who would bastardize a one-year-old babe. _

_Let him spew his nonsense and we will have the most skilled orator you can find who shall talk him into a corner. I only ask to be present when we call him to court. We shall be reunited soon and we can talk more about this then. _

_Forgive me for such a short letter but I feel that all I want to say to you, I shall say when we meet again. _

_Love your king, your knight, your husband, your Henry. _

Upon finishing that letter, Henry frowned as he reread a particular line he had just written. Fisher wished for him to bastardized Annette perhaps because he believed it had been easy for Henry to do so to Mary.

That wasn't true of course but how could Mary know that? She had accused him of punishing her and in a way, she was right: he might not be punishing her for not being a son but she was being punished for being the child of a sinful union. She had done nothing wrong and she did not deserve to be labeled a bastard when she had been born out of a marriage he had made in good faith.

Besides Anne had said that she had been courteous even agreeing to perform in the masquerade her stepmother was planning. The fact that she had seemed to adore her sister and would hopefully treat her brother the same way gave Henry hope that she had reconciled to the fact that Anne and he were lawfully married despite whatever her mother had told her.

Grabbing a new piece of parchment and dipping his quill in ink, Henry wrote another letter; this one to Wolsey, requesting that he find a way to declare his oldest daughter, born from a marriage of good faith, was in fact a princess.


	6. Mary, Anne and George

_**August 7 1528 **_

It was not easy to betray the man who he owed his job to. Cardinal Wolsey had seen something special in Cromwell and became his benefactor. But that support would vanish instantly if the Cardinal knew that his secretary was a supporter of the reformed faith. As much as he revered the corrupt and yet still honorable churchman, Cromwell knew that he had to side with Wiltshire especially when it concerned Queen Anne.

So when King Henry sent a letter to Wolsey commanding that he was to find a way to make Mary a princess again without having to divorce Anne and return to Katherine, a clerk made a copy and gave it to Cromwell who immediately went to the Boleyn apartments with the news.

"While it cannot be denied that I lived in sin with my brother's widow, my dear daughter was still born from marriage of good faith," Wiltshire recited as he read the letter. "I believe that he got that idea from Sir More." He scowled, wishing that More had never put that thought in the monarch's head or that he had the sense to speak up and dissuade Henry before the idea took root in his mind.

"At least the King has requested Wolsey wait until Anne has her son that should give us enough time to change his mind if he doesn't do so by himself," Norfolk said pragmatically.

"We can't tell her about this in her condition," Wiltshire snapped. Everyone knew that Anne was a little leery of the former princess, the idea that her stepdaughter might become a princess again and be her father's heir if Anne did not have any sons might terrify her to a point where she would miscarry her son.

"Because not telling her went so well the last time," Norfolk sneered. It wasn't that he believed that they needed to keep his niece informed but he was aware that this sort of news was bound to be leaked eventually and he had no doubt that Anne would react worse if she learned of her husband's plans through gossip.

"That was different. I don't expect Cromwell to bring this up during a council meeting," the earl said firmly, throwing the secretary a dirty look.

"I think it would be better to tell her now instead of the risk that she should find out about it later when she's even further along," Norfolk recommended.

Thomas Boleyn sighed, seeing the sense in his brother-in-law's words.

"Fine but I think it would be best if we tell as few people as possible," he began as though that wasn't obvious to the other two men. "After all, the last thing we want is for the good Bishop to get more ammunition to use against our cause."

"Speaking of whom, Fisher has agreed to arrive at the palace for our debate in a few weeks. I am told that Sir More tried to talk him out of it but was unsuccessful," Cromwell informed the men, pleased to be giving them good news.

Out of the men on the council, More was the only one who did not want Fisher to be refuted or humiliated. However, despite surely being aware that the only reason he was invited to speak was so the Queen's people could shut him down, Fisher was confident in his skills and was borderline cocky that he would win the day.

"I assume that you are nearly finished with your speech," Boleyn said coolly.

"My lords, I have been composing a rebuttal to Fisher's words the minute that man started speaking," Cromwell jested with a smirk. "Although, I had to tone down my sarcastic quips."

Wolsey had been slightly put out by the fact that Cromwell had been chosen by the King as orator rather than him but he had acknowledged that both the nobility and the common folk alike were unlikely to side with the man they hated over Bishop Fisher especially when the topic was about the Great Matter which some people, the Dowager Princess included, blamed him for.

So it was up to Cromwell to debate with Fisher and by God, he would make it a debate that no one would ever forget.

* * *

_**August 22 1528 **_

When Henry returned to court, they would have a feast and a masquerade to celebrate his glorious return. Then in the late days of September they would have the debate between Cromwell and Fisher.

Mary was excited about the first event, hoping her papa would be pleased when he saw just how skilled a dancer she was. The second event made her feel rather conflicted for more than one reason.

As much as it touched her that people were still fighting for her mother and her cause, Mary was not so young to realize just how dangerous such talk was. Not only were they technically committing blasphemy by condemning Pope Clement's decision, their words could also be considered an act of treason.

It surprised her that instead of demanding that Fisher and his priests be sent to the Tower of London, King Henry was instead summoning the bishop to court so he could be debate with Cromwell over whether or not Katherine of Aragon was the true Queen and her daughter was the only heir.

A small part of Mary wondered if perhaps her father was willing to listen to Fisher's arguments as he was beginning to believe that making Anne his wife was a mistake and if Fisher convinced him, he would restore Katherine and Mary to their rightful positions, banishing the Boleyns from court, never to be seen again.

But as much as she would like to delude herself that was the case, she knew in her heart it wasn't. A fact that was made even more obvious when Sir Thomas More had confirmed that the debate was all Anne's idea.

"I tried telling His Eminence that it was a trap," More explained to Katherine and Mary. "But he believes that he can convince if not the King, then the England people that he is right."

"And what of Pope Clement? How does he except His Holiness to react?" Katherine inquired, sounding annoyed. While Fisher had not condemned the Pope's decision, the fact that he was speaking out at all was testament to the fact that he disagreed with God's representative on Earth.

"He has made it clear on numerous occasions that he has no quarrel with the Pope, he merely believes that like the King, he has been misled," More told her, grimacing slightly. "As much as it pains me to admit, I think Fisher believes that Anne Boleyn is a witch and he fears that she is casting a spell over the common people through her acts of charity."

"Does he mean her visits to the poor section of London or of that boy?" Katherine asked, an eyebrow raised.

It was unorthodox and unseemly for a Queen to mingle with the common folk and some nobles derided Anne's decision to place an orphan boy in her brother's household, even mockingly saying that it would make sense that she would be drawn to a child who had no royal blood flowing in their veins just as she had none.

However, the common folk were viewing the entire thing in a more charitable light and they had stopped seeing Anne as a haughty whore and were becoming quite warm to her.

As for Mary, as much as she would have liked to jeer at Anne's behavior, declaring her an unfit queen, she couldn't help but be touched by the story of how an orphan boy, who must have had very few worldly possessions, had given his toy ship to Anne Boleyn's unborn child who would be given everything on a silver platter. It was understandable and even heartwarming that her stepmother had rewarded the child for his generosity. Despite her stubborn wish to continue hating Anne, Mary could not help but admire her stepmother's actions despite the fact that she had to know she would be mocked for that decision.

"Do you think he'll listen to me if I try to talk him out of it?" Katherine questioned, bringing Mary back to the present.

"Even if I thought he would, that wouldn't be a good thing. Now that the news of the debate has spread throughout England, if Bishop Fisher backs out now, it will only weaken our cause," More said sadly. "All we can do is wait and pray."

"That is all I ever do!" Katherine exclaimed, bolting out of her chair, a look of hopelessness on her face. "I have spent the past two decades: waiting and praying. First to be Queen of England, then for a healthy living child to be Henry's heir, then for Wolsey to stop turning my husband against me, then for him to tire of Lady Boleyn and return to me, and now for both the Pope and my husband to recant their decisions to forsake me and Mary."

More's expression was of pity and worry. The former queen had never lost control of her emotions before and while he could understand why she did, it was rather unnerving to see the usually composed woman fall apart so utterly.

"Thank you, Sir Thomas, for your counsel," Mary said gravely, sounding far older than a twelve-year-old girl. "I beg of you to give my mother and I some time alone to digest your words."

When Katherine did not refute her daughter's polite dismissal, Thomas More bowed to both of them before backing out of the room.

"Twenty years ago, I was a poor widow whose future was uncertain. When your father asked to marry me after his father passed away, I thought my troubles were over and I could never have imagined what trials I would face," Katherine murmured, looking out of the window, her eye glistening with unshed tears.

"Mama, you said it yourself, God is only testing our faith," Mary told her gently, taking her mother's hand in hers. The former princess did not add that she was beginning to believe that for the country's well being, she could not fight for the throne if her father did have a son even though it galled her to let the son of Anne Boleyn be King. "If it is His will that I am the future Queen of England than He will see it through."

"I know that but I just feel so helpless right now," Katherine said softly as she kneeled down to embrace her daughter. "But it is your destiny to be queen, Mary; of that I am certain."

* * *

Meanwhile in another part of the castle, Anne was in her apartments, chatting with her brother.

"It is remarkable, Anne, every time I go down to the nursery, Janey is awake and waving her little hands around as though she knows that I'm coming and is ready for me to coo over her. She must be the smartest baby in the entire kingdom aside from her sister of course," George amended, sounding like the proudest father in the world.

A part of Anne would have loved to rib her brother over the fact that up until a month ago, he hadn't even laid eyes on his daughters. But she decided not to bring that up as she knew that George was still dealing with the deaths of Jane, George and Thomas even if he was now in a better mood.

"And what of Andrew, how is he settling in?" Anne asked.

"Quite well and according to Wentworth, he is indeed a clever lad and he is excelling in the lessons of writing and reading. I am told that in a month or so, he will have enough skill to write the thank you letter he is planning to send you," George informed her with a smile.

"Well I'll be looking forward to receiving it," Anne said pleasantly, thinking that after her son was born she would send a letter to Andrew, thanking him for the ship that he had given to the soon-to-be Prince of Wales.

"The Earl of Wiltshire," the herald announced as Thomas strolled into Anne's apartments, frowning slightly.

Recognizing that her father was here with unpleasant news, the queen quickly dismissed her ladies, only requesting her mother, sister and brother stay behind.

"What is it? Is Henry all right?" Anne quizzed him, suddenly fearing that Henry had a relapse and become sick again. He was days from returning to her; surely God would not be so cruel to take him from his family now.

"The King is fine," Thomas assured her, sounding a bit concerned which only made the dread his daughter was feeling worse. "As you know I have spies in Wolsey's household and I was able to intercept a letter from His Majesty a few days ago. He has asked that, without annulling his marriage to you and not before your son is born, that the Cardinal find a way to declare Mary legitimate."

At first, Anne was aghast. With Fisher insisting that Henry should get rid of Anne and their children in order to return to Katherine and Mary, she was sure that her enemies would see this as King Henry preferring his oldest daughter as his heir over her half-siblings.

And when Mary was older and married off to a Catholic Prince, would she not use her legitimacy to try to claim England for her husband and sons? If her husband was powerful enough he could use his army to invade England and replace Anne's son with his wife once Henry had died. Even if the English people did not turn against their true King, it would still create another civil war.

How could Henry put their children in danger like this? How could he make such a decision without even consulting her about it?

"Anne, it will be all right. You have to time to convince His Majesty not to go through with this," Thomas assured her. His daughter's face was already pale and her eyes had enough fear in them to convince him that she knew of the danger a legitimate Princess Mary would cause.

"If you expect me to convince him to never reinstate my stepdaughter, I will not do so," Anne told him firmly, continuing before he had a chance to interject. "He feels guilty, Papa and he will start to resent me if I try to stop him. It would be better, if I can convince him to wait until I give birth to a Duke of York and of course we will need to be sure that she never marries a Catholic monarch."

The queen was well aware of the power she had over her husband and if she had a son, she had no doubt that Henry would take every word she said as the gospel truth. However, she knew that although he knew that he was right to annul his marriage to Katherine, he loved his daughter and believed that she was a victim of circumstance and did not deserve to be a bastard.

And if Henry was willing to make such a request of Wolsey despite the fact that it would look like he was agreeing with Fisher, that meant that his guilt had reached a point where he wanted to make amends. If he thought that Anne was so cruel that she did not want her stepdaughter to be anything other than a bastard, he would not be happy with her. Even if he knew that she was worried for their children, it wouldn't take long for his disappointment to turn into resentment, something that her enemies would be happy to use to drag her down.

Henry, of all people, knew that the lives of children were fragile and their son might not live to adulthood so it would be best if they at least had an heir and a spare if not more before making Mary a princess. Hopefully his fears of making England subservient to another country would be enough to convince him to wait.

Anne knew that she should not fear a twelve-year-old child and she certainly should not deny her father's love. But there was a difference between that and giving Mary the tools to take her down.

"I will simply urge him to wait," Anne decided, stroking her swollen abdomen. "That's all we can do, I suppose."

Thomas Boleyn could think of a few things they could do, none of which would be very moral. However, he saw sense in what his daughter was saying. It would be more prudent that they wait.

Once Anne had her son, it would be clear to everyone that God was on the Boleyns' side. However, if Bishop Fisher was any indication, a Prince of Wales might not be enough to completely silence the naysayers and that was what worried him.

* * *

_**August 31 1528**_

"Ma-ma," Annette gurgled when her nursemaid had placed her into her mother's arms.

"Hello, my darling girl, guess what: your papa is coming home today. Can you say Pa-pa?" Anne inquired.

"Ma-ma," the eight-month-old replied, causing some of the ladies-in-waiting to titter.

"I sincerely hope that she doesn't do that when he visits her," Anne giggled, fighting a smile as she thought of Henry's reaction when asking his daughter to say pa-pa, she calls him ma-ma instead.

"In her defense, the two words sound similar… in a way," George remarked, not even tearing his eyes from his own daughters.

Unlike Cathy and Hal, the three infants would be staying in the nursery while the court greeted King Henry. Mary was with her children now, making sure that they look presentable when their kingly uncle greeted them.

Anne could not help but feel a surge of sorrow for her niece and nephew. Hal was not even three and Cathy was only four and the death of their father had left their family in debt. Mary even had to sell jewelry in order to pay off the debt. If it weren't not for the pension Anne had procured for her sister, the Careys would be living in poverty with only the King's favor keeping them afloat.

"Your Majesty, a messenger has arrived to say that the King's carriage has been spotted in the streets of London," a guard informed them.

After saying goodbye to the three infants now back in their cribs, Mary, Anne and George walked arm in arm to the Great Lawn together to await the return of the red-haired monarch.

* * *

King Henry arrived at Hampton Court Palace with great fanfare, the common people cheering and the nobles bursting into applause once they saw him. Everyone was happy that he was back, healthy and strong. They pointedly ignored his pale and haggard appearance, not wanting to focus on the fact that he was ill but instead show their joy at his recovery.

However, Henry barely acknowledged his subjects and courtiers' happiness at seeing him. Instead he could only focus on one person. His wife never looked more like a queen than she did today. A jeweled diadem on top of her auburn hair, dressed in purple velvet and her throat, fingers and ears were decorated by the finest jewelry; but in truth it was the swell of her abdomen and the fact that she seemed to radiate elation when her eyes met his is what made her truly lovely.

When Henry started walking towards her, Anne broke out into a run and met him halfway, throwing her arms around his neck as he kissed her passionately.

It was as if the crowd did not exist and they were the only people in this world. Despite their countless letters they had written to each other, it wasn't until they were back in each other's arms did everything seem to be okay.

"Welcome home, my king," Anne whispered breathlessly.

"I have missed you, my queen," Henry murmured before wrapping his arm around her waist and turning towards the courtiers, his eyes searching for his two oldest children. When he spotted Mary, he walked towards her, with Anne still in his arms.

"Your Majesty," Mary greeted him, curtsying as did her mother who Henry didn't even seem to realize was there.

"No, not Your Majesty. I am your Papa always," Henry commanded, putting his hand under Mary's chin and lifting her up. "Are you well, my pearl?"

"I am now that you are here, Papa," Mary admitted, taking the initiative to embrace him, doubting he would mind her breach of protocol.

Henry briefly let go of Anne to give his daughter a full hug, kissing the top of her head. He then turned towards Katherine who looked happy and a little relived that he was acknowledging their daughter.

Despite the fact that he had lost most of the anger he felt towards her in this past year, Henry still felt the need to make sure that Fisher's nonsense had not given Katherine any sort of hope that he would forsake Anne and their children for her. After all, even though she was an intelligent woman, Katherine was far too stubborn and prideful to accept that she had lost.

"Sister, I am glad to see that you are well and I thank you for taking care of my daughters," Henry said pleasantly. If he had been feeling vindictive, he might have added the fact that when Anne had the Prince of Wales, he was sure that Katherine would be his favorite aunt. However, he had no intention of marring his return with words that were sure to hurt her.

If the look on Katherine's face was anything to go by, she had expected him to go further than simply calling her sister. Instead Henry simply laid a chaste kiss on her hand and their daughter's cheek before returning his arm around Anne's waist and moving on to Bessie Blount and Hal Fitzroy.

Henry, feeling that people would read less into his actions with Katherine if he acted the same way with the mother of his illegitimate son, took Bessie's hand and kissed it before embracing his nine-year-old son.

"How are you, my son? I hope you are feeling better. You gave us quite a scare," Henry said lightly, referring to the fact that the young duke had taken ill just when the sweat had began, causing his parents to fear for his life.

His former mistress paled at that thought and it looked as though she very much wanted to snatch Hal from his father's arms and never let him go. Hal, on the other hand, looked confused as if he had no idea why his father would be worried for him or perhaps he was thinking that if anyone had given anyone a scare, it was his father who had nearly died, leaving his country vulnerable to a civil war.

"I'm fine, Papa," Hal answered, taking a step back when Henry released him.

The King made sure to greet Mary, her children and George in order to extend his condolences for their loses before turning towards the common folk who were crowded around the gates of the palace.

"My subjects, God has taken much from us and for that we will grieve. But we should be pleased that he has chosen to spare not only myself and my beautiful wife, Queen Anne but also my children!" Henry declared, resting his hand on Anne's protruding belly just in case they were confused about what he was saying.

Men like Bishop Fisher might be convinced that God did not want Anne or her son on the throne of England but he knew the truth: the Lord Almighty had spared them and when he died eventually, Anne's son would be the next king. That was God's will.

"Come Anne, I am eager to see our lovely daughter," Henry whispered in his wife's ear as the crowds applauded his words.

Anne's hand rested on his arm as they walked into the place with the courtiers following them inside.

Tomorrow, he would have a privy council meeting to discuss both foreign and internal affairs. In September, he would watch as Bishop Fisher and Master Cromwell debated over their views of the Great Matter. And in December, he would hopefully welcome the Prince of Wales.

But for now, Henry would enjoy time with his wife and children as the entire court celebrated his recovery from his nearly fatal illness and his victorious return.

* * *

_**September 18 1528**_

Most of the followers of Martin Luther did not like Anne Boleyn and they viewed the Great Matter as proof that the Catholic Church was corrupt which was quite understandable as it was almost certain that Pope Clement had only granted King Henry's annulment in order to get back at the Holy Roman Emperor whose troops had threatened to sack Rome.

However, Cranmer and Cromwell had been working to counteract that by insisting that God had stopped the army from invading Italy in order to set up events that would led to Queen Anne to bringing the true faith to England.

So far they were having an limited success-although there was no doubt that if Anne gave birth to a son, the reformers would flock to her. In the meantime, more people were warming up to Anne thanks to her acts of charity and the fact that despite the Mad Nun's prophecy, King Henry was alive and well. Hopefully, this debate would not only help the Boleyn's cause but it would also plant seeds of doubt in England's Catholic clergy.

The King might have no quarrel with the Pope for now but Cromwell hoped that at least some of the corrupt monasteries could be closed.

* * *

It was a rather cool day when the court convened in Blackfriars for the debate between Master Thomas Cromwell and Bishop John Fisher.

King Henry and Queen Anne sat on two thrones, acting as the judges of the debate with Wolsey standing by as the mediator. In the front of the room, sat the important nobles with the Boleyns and Norfolk sitting on one side with Princess Dowager Katherine, the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, and Sir Thomas More sitting on the other.

It seemed those who were sitting behind the Boleyns supported their cause while those who supported Katherine sat behind her. A statement the King had not missed and he was clearly angry with the side More, the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk had chosen. The Lady Mary was not there as neither of her parents had thought that this debate would be a pleasant experience for her.

"Gentlemen, let us begin," Wolsey spoke loudly to be heard over the chatter. At once a hush fell over the room. "Your Eminence, His Majesty King Henry has decreed that you are to give your opening statement first."

"First, I would like to say that I have no quarrel with Your most gracious Majesty nor do I dispute the Pope's prerogative to grant papal depositions," Fisher began, bowing to Henry, ignoring Anne completely. "I thank you, Your Majesty for giving me the opportunity to hear me out. I am a godly Englishmen so it disheartens me to speak out in such a way but my conscious could not let me remain silent. I fear that His Holiness and His Majesty have been misled into making a grave mistake. There is simply no evidence that Infanta Katherine of Aragon was untruthful when she said that she was a virgin upon consummating her marriage with Your Majesty and I believe that her daughter is all the proof we need that God did not condemn your marriage."

With another bow, Fisher returned to his seat, oblivious to the anger flashing in King Henry's eyes. Luckily the red-haired monarch managed to keep his temper in check, nodding at Cromwell to give his opening statement.

Cromwell took a moment to shuffle through his papers, laying out two of them before making his way to the dais, being sure to bow to both Henry and Anne before he began speaking.

"I am but a lawyer with a simple background so perhaps I am too uneducated to understand how a man can say he has no quarrel with the King and yet he insists that the Mad Nun of Kent was right: that by taking Queen Anne as a wife, His Majesty has doomed England which was thankfully proven false. And is disagreeing with the Pope's decrees not blasphemy? After all, when Martin Luther said that the Catholic Church was being _misled _by bribery and power, he was labeled a heretic-"

"I am no heretic!" Fisher shouted, outraged at being compared to Luther. Murmurs of shock rippled through the spectators either at Cromwell's words or at Fisher's reaction.

"Sit down, Bishop Fisher! Master Cromwell let you speak and if you do not show him the same courtesy, you will be required to forfeit the debate!" Wolsey warned him, giving the man a stern glare.

"I do not pretend to know your true thoughts," Cromwell continued smoothly as his opponent bristled silently. "But I remain confused by your words as they contain some untruths. For example, you say that there is no evidence that Princess Katherine of Aragon laid with His Highness Prince Arthur and yet I have statements from several witnesses who are here today to back up their accounts that the late Prince Arthur of Wales and his wife did indeed consummate their marriage," he finished as he went over to the papers he had set out and picked them up as proof of his words, looking expectantly at the Bishop who was fighting to remain calm.

This prompted more gasps from the crowds and the Princess Dowager herself looked horrified.

Wolsey had expected that the Great Matter would have a trial so the Pope could be assured of the justice of the King's case against his former wife and he had interviewed known members of Prince Arthur's household to be used against the former queen.

Even though they had not ended up having a trial, Wolsey had kept the accounts and then when he realized that Fisher would bring up Katherine's continued instance that she was a virgin upon marrying King Henry, he had given Cromwell those reports just in case he needed to produce them during the debate.

"Princess Dowager Katherine is not on trial here today as Pope Clement in his great wisdom did not need a trial to declare our marriage invalid. So unless the Bishop Fisher wishes to try that particular case, I see no reason to push this matter," King Henry decided wisely.

It would be better for all concerned if the debate was not too much about Katherine just in case people cleaved to Fisher's side out of sympathy for her.

However, if Fisher continued to insist that Katherine and his marriage was a true one, he would summon those witnesses Wolsey had found so they could provide testimony, proving otherwise.

The debate continued with both Fisher and Cromwell making strong points and rebuttals. It may have been wishful thinking but Henry could swear that his subjects were nodding their heads more when Cromwell spoke than when Fisher did.

Then after Fisher and Cromwell made their closing arguments but before Wolsey had a chance to speak, Queen Anne struggled to get to her feet, ignoring the shocked gasps as she went to the middle of the dais.

It was clear from the bewildered faces of Wolsey, Henry and Cromwell that this had not been planned.

"Good Christian people I know what you all think of me and I understand it as I would not think kindly of a lady who stepped into my shoes. I know that some see me a witch and a whore. Lutherans and Catholics alike condemn my marriage to the King. I know that I cannot be a queen like Katherine of Aragon who bravely defended us from the invading Scots on the Field of Flodden. It does not make me happy to unbalance an innocent girl who was born from a sinful union. When I gave birth to my dear daughter, I was afraid that she was a punishment from God for my arrogance, although she is darling girl. And when I nearly lost the man I loved with all my heart, I prayed to be taken instead for this realm needs its most gracious Prince. We can debate on who is right and who is wrong all we want but I for one would prefer to be thankful to God for sparing my husband. God save the King!" she proclaimed loudly.

Henry leapt to his feet and took her arm on his as they both descended the dais and walked past the stunned crowd.

"Warn me next time you are going to do that, Anne, I would have liked our dramatic exit be more prompt," Henry said with good cheer after they returned to her apartments. Although a part of him knew that Anne's little show might have negative consequences, he could not help but think that her earnest words might win people over.

"I didn't want anyone to think we rehearsed it, my love, I hope I didn't embarrass you or Cromwell," Anne said, knowing that while men might enjoy it when their mistresses spoke out of turn, it was another matter when their wives did it.

"Well you certainly had me looking like a gaping fool. However, I can't be too angry at you considering you all but stated that my health is more important than a silly argument," Henry jested, kissing her fingers.

* * *

"Well that was unexpected," Thomas remarked, looking far more stunned than upset at his daughter's actions.

"Did you see Wolsey's face?" George laughed. "He looked like he was about to fall over in shock. I wonder how long Anne was planning this little spectacle."

"I have no idea. She never mentioned anything to me," Mary remarked, frowning slightly. She was a little hurt that her sister had not confided in her.

"I'm sure she didn't tell anyone because she knew we'd tell her not to," Norfolk remarked, his tone serious. He felt frustrated and angry at his niece's impulsiveness. He had no idea if Anne's speech would turn out well or badly for her.

If Katherine had made such a speech for her cause and then left abruptly, the common folk would have stood up and perhaps applauded her as she walked past them. While no one had reacted negatively to Anne-of course walking out with the King would have stopped them from booing her- they had not done anything more than politely doffing their caps and bowing as the royal couple passed them.

"As imprudent and aggravating it is that she chose to make a scene, I have a feeling that as long as Cromwell did his job at turning the people against Fisher and his men, it won't matter," Wiltshire stated with a thoughtful expression on his face.

After all, Anne's speech would not upset those whose were convinced by Cromwell's arguments and they would not sway those who were determined to hate her no matter what anyone said. Furthermore as long as the King was not angered by her bold words, he knew that Anne would not get in trouble for speaking out.

* * *

"What in hell was that about?" Mary Brandon wondered as she poured herself a glass of wine. "Is she so stupid that she thinks empty words is going to win anyone over?"

"The fact that she spoke at all, even bringing up Flodden Field, will at the very least give people the impression that she is at least humble enough to know that she can never live up to Princess Katherine," Charles pointed out, glancing at the former queen in case she was angry at him calling her princess instead of queen.

"And saying that she feared that her daughter was a punishment will make people feel more sympathetic to her as it would take a lot of guts to admit that," Katherine remarked, wondering if Anne was even aware of her daughter would feel if she ever learned what her mother had said.

Not that she didn't realize what Anne had meant by that. Katherine had apologized for Mary's birth, believing that she had failed once again even though Mary was healthier than the last babies she had birthed.

Putting aside Anne's speech, she could not help but feel that as More feared, her cause had suffered a blow today. Cromwell had all but called Fisher a heretic who despite his protests to the contrary was liar who did in fact believe that the Pope and the King were mistaken.

"So she got up, made a complete fool of herself and you think people will actually buy her fake words," Mary said in disbelief.

"Yes, after all, why would she say them if they weren't true?" Charles commented sarcastically with a disdainful snort.

Anne Boleyn was a skilled manipulator and it was entirely possible that she had chosen to make that speech of hers, knowing that it would look as though she was speaking from the heart earnestly and honestly and not trying to sir up sympathy for her cause at all.

* * *

"Did you notice how Cromwell kept bringing up Martin Luther without actually saying he was wrong?" Thomas More remarked the minute he entered Wolsey's chambers and they had exchanged polite greetings.

"That's because it went without saying," Wolsey pointed out, trying to pretend he didn't know what More was getting at "After all, the whole point was that Fisher's remarks were dangerously close to what Luther was saying."

"I'm telling you there was something about the way he was talking about Fisher's values that sounded almost Lutheran," More continued with a frown. "And surely you cannot be blind and have not seen Cromwell consorting with the Boleyns and that reformer Cranmer."

"As does King Henry," Wolsey said coolly. "I have already told you, Thomas, that as long the Pope supports the annulment, we do not have to worry about Queen Anne convincing His Majesty to look into such heresy as the works of Luther."

From what his own spies had told him, aside from the English bible, Anne Boleyn had not shown King Henry anything heretical and he hoped that with Luther and his followers labeling her as the King's concubine, she would lose her interest in the so-called religious reforms of her own volition.

"Yes but unfortunately Bishop Fisher has given the heretics of England a way to convince King Henry that the clergy is corrupt and to take action against our monasteries and abbeys," Sir More said, his lips pressed together thinly as he recalled Cromwell argued how Fisher and his fellow monks were trying to take advantage of the less educated folk, using their positions as men of God to manipulate them into believing whatever the clergymen wanted them to believe. He might not have come out and called them conmen but he might as well have.

"His Majesty has never had a problem with clergymen who were loose with their vows before," Wolsey commented, having the decency to look abashed as he thought of his mistresses and bastard children.

"For now. But that could change if Queen Anne and Cromwell managed to convince him otherwise," Thomas More hissed.

"All right, Sir Thomas, let's say you are right. That the King, who wrote a pamphlet against Luther and who has no reason to be angry at the Pope, decides to ignore our counsel and becomes a follower of Luther. What can we do about it? For there is only one way we can silence Queen Anne if she chooses to speak against the Catholic Church and it will have to be done before she gives birth least it is to a son. Are you prepared to do whatever it takes to stop her for it cannot be done morally?" the cardinal challenged, his voice was low and his eyes were narrowed.

After all, even if they had a mountain of proof that Anne Boleyn was heretic or even better a witch, they could not kill her legally or even get her banished as King Henry was so enamored with her that he would never believe it to be true no matter how reliable and true the proof was. The only other solution was to murder her through subtler means like poison.

Thomas More blanched at the implication, his eye wide in horror. "Never. I would never do such a thing," he stammered, glancing around the room afraid that someone had overheard and would use it to call them both traitors.

"Then there is nothing we can do about them," Wolsey informed him calmly. "However I will send a letter to Rome, expressing my worries that Cromwell might be giving the English people the wrong impression of the Catholic Church."

Anne had convinced the King to make Cromwell his secretary before he had become the orator of the debate, therefore robbing Wolsey the chance of firing the reformer he had unknowingly placed in his household.

Telling the Pope of Anne's interest in religious reforms would just be lighting a fire where he would most certainly be burnt in. However, if Pope Clement sent King Henry a letter that stressed his worries that Cromwell might not be acting in the interests of the Catholic Church, the King would hopefully become more mindful of the people trying to turn him Lutheran.

Wolsey wasn't not stupid enough to assume that some of Luther's ideas wouldn't interest a King like Henry but he prayed that between him, the Pope, the Archbishop of Canterbury and More, they could continue to stop the plague of heresy from corrupting England.

He could only pray that after Pope Clement was dead and gone that his successor would not give into the Emperor's demands and he would not recant Clement's Papal Bull declaring Katherine and Henry's marriage null and void. God save them if that happened. Wolsey was under no allusions that if the next Pope did choose to dissolve the current royal union, Henry would be incensed and he would cut ties with the Catholic Church immediately. It might not even matter if Anne Boleyn had not given him sons by then, it would still anger him to be told that he should have been denied his annulment in the first place.

Wolsey prayed if this happened that he would not be around to see it. His health was not the best and the Cardinal doubted he would live for another five years. When his time came, he hoped that he would die in comfort as the King's most trusted advisor and he would never have to deal with the headache that would be coming.

* * *

_**November 1 1528**_

She was not supposed to give birth until December and yet on All Saints Day, a month early, the queen's labor pains began. In the coming years, people would claim that God has chosen such a holy day on purpose. For now, Anne was terrified that her child would not survive, the memory of her sister-in-law's death ever present as she pushed her second-born child into the world.

But her anxiety soon became euphoria when she had the child crying and her mother said those seven wonderful magical words.

"It's a boy, Anne, you did it!" Elizabeth Boleyn shouted, as she brought the baby over to her daughter who was now propped up against her pillows.

Anne stared down at the bundle in her arms: Her son. He was finally here. Let her detractors call her a haughty whore or a concubine now.

Time had suddenly lost all meaning and she scarcely heard the shouts of joys and the sounds of the bells, cannons and fireworks. She was just content to stare into the blue eyes of her son.

She suddenly felt guilty, realizing that she had not felt such joy at Annette's birth and she was about to order her ladies to have her daughter be brought to her at once when her husband strolled in, holding Annette in his arms.

"I thought our little girl should meet her brother," Henry laughed, grinning at Anne's delight at seeing her daughter.

When he had learned that Anne had given birth to his son-a prince after so many years of waiting- he had ordered that the celebrations start at once. However, before he made his way to Anne's room, he decided to make a detour, feeling that Princess Annette might not understand what having a brother meant or that he was getting a bigger celebration than she had but that did not mean that she shouldn't be included as she was still their daughter.

"I think our son will be happy to meet you both," Anne said, smiling happily as kissed her son's forehead before looking back up at her husband and daughter. "Shall we switch?"

Henry laid Annette in her mother's lap before taking the newborn son from her arms, allowing Anne to cuddle their daughter who seemed to have fallen asleep the minute her father put her down.

"I cannot thank you enough for him, Anne," Henry murmured, admiring how despite his early birth, how big his son looked and how much of his appearance he shared with his father. "You should be the one to choose his name."

"Would you be upset if I didn't choose your name especially after you picked my name for your daughter?" Anne teased him, batting her eyelashes playfully.

"Sweetheart, you have given birth to the first healthy Prince of Wales since my time as my father's heir twenty years ago. I shall not be upset even if you named our son Francis," Henry told her, grimacing slightly at the thought of his son being named after his pompous French counterpart.

Anne giggled as she shifted Annette to a more comfortable position in her arms and moved over so Henry and their son could join them on the bed.

"Well he has born on All Saints Day so I suppose it would rather fitting if he was named after our patron saint," Anne suggested.

"And the fact that George just so happens to be your brother's name is just a coincidence, I suppose," Henry jested, knowing full well that Anne was more likely to name their son Thomas if she wanted to honor her family just because she knew she wouldn't hear the end of it from her father and uncle if she didn't.

"A marvelous coincidence, I must say," Anne remarked, her eyes twinkling.

"Anne and George," Henry agreed smiling. Before his eyes lit up, realizing something. "I have a Mary, Anne and George."

"Another marvelous coincidence," his wife laughed.

The fact that Anne had a brother named Henry who had not survived was not mentioned even though that meant not including Hal Fitzroy when they spoke of the King's children. Although aside from mentioning her once, Henry did not bring up his other daughter again even though Anne could guess that he was thinking of the assignment he had given Wolsey. She had convinced him to delay his proceedings a few months ago and he had agreed to wait until a Duke of York was born but that didn't matter right now.

The only thing that mattered was that at long last a Prince of Wales was born and God willing one day he would be King George the First.

* * *

Her mother was not here and Mary could not help but feel glad that she was not. Oh, she wished that she and Katherine could hear the news together so they could comfort each other and be each other's rock in this trying time. But she did not want to see her mother's reaction to the birth of her rival's sons as she was sure that her mother would try to be brave and would whisper comforting words, masking her own pain over the fact that her rival had just given birth to a healthy son. It would hurt her even more to know all of London seemed to be celebrating the birth of Prince George- Good God was Anne's control over her father so great that she even got him to name his son after her dratted brother.

Mary did not want her mother here because she knew that Katherine would be strong, coax her into seeing her brother and try to get her to not feel so sorry for herself.

Right now, that was all Mary wanted to do. Despite her vow that she would stand aside for Anne's son, that she would accept that he would be their father's heir, she found it very hard not to plead with God to let this be some sort of mistake. That Anne had not really given birth to a boy who would automatically displace her even if she hadn't been made a bastard.

After two hours of sulking, desperately trying to drown out the sounds of merriment downstairs, Mary finally got off her bed and proceeded to the nursery with her governess trailing behind.

The former princess hoped that once she saw her baby brother, it would be easier for her to love him just as she loved Annette and Hal. Speaking of her father's illegitimate son, Hal had also come to see their siblings.

He smiled at her when she entered, waving her over so she would stand next to him by George's crib. A part of Mary hoped that the new Prince of Wales looked more Boleyn than Tudor so that she could convince herself that her stepmother had been unfaithful and therefore she had not given birth to the king's son. She could not stop the rush of disappointment that she felt when she saw that her new brother did indeed look like a true Tudor.

"Maree Maree!" Annette called, pulling herself up and standing in her crib as she reached out towards her older sister.

With a small smile, Mary picked her sister up out of the crib, managing to hold her despite how heavy the toddler was getting.

"Annie, who is that?" Mary asked. She never liked to use the nickname Anne used for her sister. She pointed to George so the little girl would know who she was talking about. "That's your brother. That's George."

"Geroge," Annette tried, making her half-siblings giggle.

"George," Mary corrected, looking down at her half-brother and suddenly feeling a rush of love when the hours-old baby looked up at her.

_I may never love your mother but I will never be your enemy, George. _She vowed inwardly.

If it was God's will to make Anne's son a king than she would find a way to be okay with it. For she did not want to throw England into a civil war and she most certainly did not want to harm her half-siblings.

And if God chose to make her queen after her father died instead of George, she would not allow her siblings to be banished with the other Boleyns, instead she would treat them with the love and respect they deserved.

The Tudor family would remain united, no matter what happened. She would make sure of it.

* * *

**I had George planned since pretty much the first chapter and it was so hilarious to me that I named Anne's daughter Anne making Henry's three children with the Tudor surname matched the names and birth order of the Boleyns. There will be a four-year time jump next chapter. We will see some familiar faces: some will be more welcome than others.**


	7. Thinking of the Future

_**January 23 1532**_

_Just where had the years gone?_ Queen Anne wondered. It seemed like just yesterday she was holding her sweet baby daughter in her arms and today her little girl was four-years-old and growing up much too quickly. Of course, she was exaggerating as Annette still had most of her childhood to live through. However, in ten years, she would leave for France to marry the dauphin and Anne could not help but dread the day, her daughter would leave her.

"Make way for His Highness, Prince George of Wales, His Highness Prince Edward, the Duke of York and Her Highness Princess Anne," someone called from outside the queen's apartments causing the ladies-in-waiting to set down their sewing so they could greet the royal children properly.

The minute her children appeared, Anne kneeled on the floor, her arms outstretched, beaming as Annette and George ran into her embrace.

Thankfully it had not been too long since they had seen each other as Annette's birthday and the celebrations of Christmastide were weeks apart that there was no point in the children returning to their residence. But when court had left Greenwich for Whitehall, the royal children went back to Hatfield for a short time.

"How are you, my little ones?" Anne inquired, studying her children's appearances. Annette was growing like weed despite only being ten-months-older than her brother, she seemed to tower over him.

"We're good, Mama," Annette replied, smiling happily. Georgie nodded to confirm his sister's words, not at all upset that his sister had spoken for him.

"And how is my littlest one?" the queen asked rhetorically as she rose to take the Duke of York from his governess so she could coo over her youngest child, born last March to her and Henry's great delight.

After the royal marriage had been blessed with three healthy children, the English people no longer viewed Anne as an unworthy usurper and there was nothing Bishop Fisher and his small group of priests could say to change it. After all, Elizabeth Barton's prophecy had been disproven and Pope Clement stood by his verdict, making it clear that God did indeed favor Henry and Anne.

The double marriage betrothals between France and England had been finalized and now all they were doing was waiting for Georgie and Annette to become fourteen, legally able to be married to their older spouses.

A few months after George was born, it seemed that all of Europe, save for the Holy Roman Emperor, became eager to marry their daughters to the infant Prince of Wales. However, Henry and Anne remembered that after Annette was born, only King Francis had been willing to suggest a marriage between his son and the princess. And since he was the only one who seemed to view their daughter as worthy enough for his son then it would be only his daughter who was worthy of their son.

In ten years, her daughter would be the Dauphine of France and her son would be the future King of England and no one would ever be able to say that Anne was not truly Henry's wife. Perhaps then, even the Emperor would be eager to marrying his children off to the younger children of the woman he had once scorned.

"Where is my birthday girl?" Henry demanded as he entered his wife's apartments, ignoring Anne's ladies who curtsied when they saw him.

"Here I am, Papa!" Annette exclaimed as her father scooped her up and spun her around, causing her to giggling with glee. He placed her back on the ground before hugging his oldest son and pinching the cheek of his youngest son. He and Anne shared a chaste kiss on the lips.

Anne smiled softly as they sat in front of the fire, Ned still in her arms as Henry held both Georgie and Annette on his lap and he began to regale them with the tale of Robin Hood and his Merry Men.

Six years ago, she had never imagined that her life would change so drastically. She could never have imagined how golden her world would become.

* * *

When Cardinal Wolsey died two years ago, King Henry had requested that More take his position of Lord Chancellor. At first, he had been tempted to refuse; unlike most Lords of the court, Sir Thomas was not ambitious and he did not want to deal with politics and all the backstabbing that followed.

However, with Cromwell as the King's secretary, Cranmer as the royal Chaplin and with the Boleyns whispering poison about the Catholic Church in Henry's ears, More feared that if he didn't accept the position, the Privy Council would be filled with heretics and Boleyn supporters.

So he accepted the job and along with Archbishop Warham, he tried to keep the Catholic Church in tact. However, that was becoming difficult as Henry refused to sign the death warrants of heretics who refused to recant their blasphemy, even comparing them to Bishop Fisher who had yet to recant his own words against Queen Anne. He had also commissioned bibles translated into English to be distributed among the churches throughout England.

How was he and the Archbishop of Canterbury supposed to counteract heresy when their King was helping it spread? How could they condemn followers of Martin Luther, when the people King Henry was close to, including his wife who had given him two sons, were most certainly among those followers?

Thankfully Wolsey had been right that King Henry had no quarrel with the Pope and Henry even said that he was grateful that Clement had done God's work instead of listening those fools who tried to convince him to keep the English ruler shackled to his barren wife- undoubtedly a thinly veiled insult at the Holy Roman Emperor's expense.

A knock on More's door, shook the Lord Chancellor from his thoughts and he nodded at his manservant to let the person inside.

"Your Excellency, I feared that you had abandoned us," Thomas greeted the Spanish Ambassador with good cheer.

Nearly two years ago, Eustace Chapuys replaced Mendoza as the ambassador to England. Last year he had hoped to convince King Henry to place Mary back in the line of succession, stressing how happy the Emperor would be if he did so. Phrasing it that way had been a mistake on Chapuys' part as the King took umbrage at the implication that he was "to be the Holy Roman Emperor's dog, doing whatever his master commanded in order to get a special treat" and he had refused to listen to reason about the matter even though More knew that he had hoped to reinstate Mary as a Princess once the Duke of York was born.

"I tried to, my lord but I found that I was unable to leave Infanta Katherine and her daughter behind," Chapuys replied with a small frown. "They need my help in these trying times."

"Thankfully, there is some good news," More assured him. "King Henry has sent a letter to Pope Clement requesting that his daughter be declared legitimate as the marriage was done in good faith. However, his wife has requested a stipulation be added: Mary can only inherit the English throne if all of her legitimate half-siblings die without giving birth to any children."

Chapuys' face quickly changed from elation to despair in a matter of seconds. "Surely, the King has not agreed to this?" he asked, his expression grim as he was already aware of what More would say next. Damn that conniving harlot. It was bad enough that she had bewitched the King and Pope to turn against a great queen and princess but now she was forcing the true Princess of Wales to be put behind not only her bastard brothers but also her bastard sister. Was there no end to her evil?

"I am afraid he has agreed to it," Sir Thomas replied gravely, keeping his face neutral.

Unlike Chapuys, he could not blame Anne Boleyn for making such a request nor could he truly blame the King for agreeing with it-at least he could not blame them entirely. After all, Emperor Charles was still trying to convince the Pope to recant his declaration, Bishop Fisher was still adamant that England was doomed and with Chapuys' faux pas all those months ago, they were lucky that Queen Anne had not convinced King Henry that it was too dangerous to have Mary be in the line of succession at all.

"I suppose making her a princess again is a start," Chapuys admitted grudgingly, his tone had an undertone of displeasure before he brightened slightly. "Thankfully I have news from Rome that might be good fortune. Pope Clement's health has been poor lately and Emperor Charles hopes that he can convince the man who will be his successor to to undo the mess in England before it gets any worse."

He was surprised when instead of looking just as hopeful, Sir More instead looked aghast at his words.

"If the next Pope after His Holiness declares the King's marriage to Anne Boleyn invalid and forces him to return to Queen Katherine, I fear that will be the moment that His Majesty cuts ties with Rome permanently," Thomas hissed.

Four years ago, it would have been different as Thomas was sure that King Henry would not have dared to disagree with Rome's decision despite his infatuation with Anne Boleyn.

However, with two sons and a healthy daughter in such a short amount of time, no one could convince King Henry that he had been wrong. The only reason Katherine had not given in was because she refused to be called a liar and a whore. Privately she had told More that she had given up on Pope Clement and the notion that anyone could convince Henry to forsake Anne and the most she could hope for was that her daughter would be a princess agian and then someday queen of a different country.

If any Pope, including Clement, were to declare that the two sons Henry had been hoping for since he became King, illegitimate, the red-haired ruler would turn Lutheran within seconds.

"And who is to say he won't anyway, there have been whispers that King Henry was taken to reading the _Obedience of a Christian Man_ and has even invited the author back to England so he can learn more about certain aspects of the book," Chapuys pointed out. "As long as Lady Anne remains his wife, there will always be a danger of the King becoming a heretic. So unless we can get rid of-"

"NO!" Thomas exclaimed, shooting the man a stern look. "I am going to pretend I don't know what you are getting at and I think our audience is now at end."

Chapuys inclined his head politely before leaving More's office, leaving the Lord Chancellor to sink into his chair.

Perhaps Alice was right, he should retire before it cost him his head. He would inform Katherine of the conversation between him and the Spanish Ambassador just in case, he tried something foolish and inadvertently caused suspicion to fall on her and Mary's head.

Then he would write a letter of resignation to King Henry and hopefully get out of court before he had to witness the outcome of whatever the Pope chose to do or get himself mixed up in a conspiracy that would with a bloody civil war.

He may look to God first before his King but Sir Thomas More was not about to be the cause of the end of the stability and peace. Although he would never agree with Pope Clement's decision, he had to admit that after the sweat England had flourished and now the shaky truce between those who supported the Boleyns and those who supported Katherine was threatening to fall apart.

* * *

"A gift from the Dauphin of France to his future bride, Princess Anne," the French Ambassador announced, offering up quality French hood for the young girl's inspection and delight.

"It is lovely, send His Highness my warmest thanks," Princess Annette commanded, a bright smile on her face as she immediately discarded the small tiara she was wearing for her present, causing the courtiers to chuckle fondly.

"Be sure to tell Prince Francis just how happy our daughter is with her gift," Henry ordered, thinking that the French King would find the story of how excited the young girl had been that she refused to go a minute without wearing the headpiece quite charming.

King Henry watched as the courtiers presented their gifts to the birthday girl. He examined the gifts wearily, keeping an eye out for any slights such as a gift that cost the same the amount as something bought for Mary. No one dared to buy Hal Fitzroy a grander present than one they would buy for Prince George but sometimes Henry noted that if they thought they could get away with it, some of his courtiers would buy a gift befitting of a princess for Mary. Not that he was against his eldest daughter who he hoped would be called princess again within the next few months be treated as such but Anne had brought up the dangers of Mary being treated better than any daughter of theirs and he would not tolerate it if any of his subjects treated Annette as though she ranked below Mary.

Speaking of Mary, she had not come to birthday celebration as Katherine was feeling ill and she had pleaded with her father to remain at Auckland Castle where she could nurse her mother back to health as her mother would do for her. She had sent Annette's gift early along with an apology letter.

Despite the age difference, Henry's four children were devoted to each other and it warmed the King's heart to see it. Just as Annette was her older sister's shadow, Georgie adored his older brother and Henry hoped that when he was King, Hal Fitzroy would be his most loyal advisor just as surely little Ned would.

"Does our daughter not look like a queen already?" Anne whispered in her husband's ear, taking care to keep her voice down. Even though she doubted King Francis would take offense at her saying so, it was still a bit rude to be discussing her daughter becoming queen when it would only happen if her husband's father died.

"I have no doubt she will be a queen with beauty and grace just like her mother," Henry complimented her, holding her hand in his, kissing her lips sweetly.

"And our sons will grow as handsome and clever as their father," Anne agreed, smiling at George who was sitting next to Annette, admiring her latest gift. Ned was too young to be awake for the entire celebration and was still in the nursery.

Henry smiled lovingly at her. In the past four years he had not looked at another woman, sharing Anne's bed almost every night, only sleeping in his own while his wife was carrying their children.

They were just beginning to root out the corruption that blackened the names of good clergymen while making religion more accessible to those who could not speak Latin. Henry was convinced that when their son became King, he would already have the golden kingdom his parents were envisioning.

* * *

Soon it was time to go to the banquet hall where a feast had been prepared in honor of his niece. The Earl of Ormond sat beside his daughters who were chatting with their cousin, Cathy Carey and her brother who the King had made the Baron of Hunsdon at the same time he had made Thomas Boleyn the Duke of Wiltshire.

"Your girls are growing into fine young ladies," Thomas remarked to his son. George quirked an eyebrow as he was sure that his father had other motives rather than just complimenting his granddaughters. "However, they will need a mother too teach them how to be a proper court lady."

"I'm sure you have a woman in mind," George guessed with a sigh, keeping his voice low, not wanting his daughters to overhear.

"One of the leaders of the Schmalkaldic League is eager to get England on board so he and I have been sending each other letters and he suggested that there should be a marriage between you and his wife's younger sister, Anne of Cleves," Thomas explained, smirking.

"And you think that the Duke of Cleves would be prepared to accept a marriage between his daughter and a mere Earl?" George questioned, his interest piqued.

While it was true that once his father died, he would be the Duke of Wiltshire, George still lacked royal blood.

"If the Elector of Saxony is to be believed, the Duke of Cleves is not opposed to the match and he has sent an ambassador to discuss the matter with King Henry," Thomas explained, smiling at his granddaughters. "If we play our cards right, Janey and Marian will have a stepmother by next year and hopefully they will get a baby brother soon afterwards."

There was a part of George that would have loved to roll his eyes but he said nothing. It had been almost four years since Jane's death. His father was right about one thing, his girls deserved to have a mother. He just hoped that Anne of Cleves would be a good stepmother.

* * *

_**January 30 1532 **_

King Henry had never stepped foot in Auckland Castle, he never had a reason to before and after he gave to his daughter and former wife as their main residence. Speaking of whom, he had not seen the Dowager Princess of Wales since she had left court sometime after he recovered from the Sweat.

But today he rode out to Auckland Castle as he wanted to bring this news to his daughter in person so she would know how happy he was that he could declare her his princess once again.

She could never be the Princess of Wales and because of men like Fisher and Chapuys, it was too risky to put her before her half-sisters. However, that didn't mean he wasn't happy that once again, he could say that she was true princess. Hopefully, Mary would be just as pleased as he was.

When he arrived at the castle, Mary was standing at the entrance hall, draped in a lovely dress that made her look so grown up. Anne had thought that Anette was growing up so fast and yet Henry felt like it had been just yesterday that he held his firstborn daughter in his arms and now she was almost sixteen-years-old.

As he embraced his half-grown daughter tightly, Henry decided right then and there he would find a way for his pearl to be the queen she was meant to be.

"Mary, my pearl, I have missed you so," Henry murmured into her hair, before leading her to the sitting room so they could sit down.

"I've missed you as well, Father," Mary said as she took an adjacent seat to the one her father was sitting on. "I hope Annie wasn't too unhappy that I missed her birthday."

"Well she and Georgie certainly missed you but they understood that you needed to stay with your mother. How is she? Anne and I hope that she is getting better," Henry told her, squeezing his hand in hers.

Mary wondered if Anne really hoped that her rival would recover from her illness or did Anne hope that both Katherine and Mary would die so she could be assured that she had no rivals at all.

"She is feeling better. If you would like to visit her and see for yourself, I'm sure she would appreciate it," Mary suggested.

Four years ago, she would have been hoping that if her father spent just a few minutes with her ailing mother, it might rekindle the love he had for her. But she was not so naïve to believe that could happen. However, she had no doubt that her father's visit would mean a lot to her mother who had been rather depressed in the time after the birth of her half-brother and falling sick more often than the years before.

"I'm afraid that I won't have enough time for I must be getting back to court," Henry said apologetically. "I hope you will give her my well wishes."

"Of course."

"Good. Now Mary, the reason I am here is because I wanted to come in person to tell you that Pope Clement has agreed that you were born from a marriage made in good faith. Therefore you are a true princess of England," Henry announced, beaming at her, as if he expected her to weep in joy.

Had her father not been sitting in front of her, Mary might have snorted in derision at the thought of her weeping in joy over getting something she never should have lost in the first place.

She loved her father and acknowledged that he had been patient with her when he saw how his actions had hurt her but she could not understand how he could expect her to be happy that he had torn her world into several pieces and was only giving her a small portion of it back.

However, now was not the time to dwell on such unfairness. Now was the time to smile as sweetly as she could and feign sheer joy at the notion that she was no longer Lady Mary but once again Princess Mary.

"Oh Father, that's wonderful. Thank you so much for this," Mary said gratefully, kissing her father's cheek.

"It's the least I can do, my pearl. Now I hate to leave you but I must be getting back to court before it becomes to late to travel," Henry told her gently, kissing both of her hands.

After exchanging goodbyes with her father, Mary kept the smile plastered on her face until the horses carrying her father and his grooms had disappeared down the road. With that, she turned and went to her mother's bedchamber.

* * *

Katherine was sitting up in her bed, looking slightly disappointed, as she was probably just told that her former husband had arrived and left without a word to her. However, once she saw Mary's scowl, she opened her arms, beckoning her daughter to get on the bed and take comfort in her mother's arms.

"I am a princess again, I suppose that's something," Mary grumbled. "I just can't stop wondering why it has to happen like this. I know I'm not supposed to question God's plan but…"

"I know, sweetheart, and it isn't easy for me to admit that perhaps your father making you a princess despite his views of our marriage is the best we could hope for," Katherine said sadly, stroking her daughter's hair.

Gone were the days where Katherine could believe that Henry would forsake Anne and return to her. Gone were the days where she could delude herself into thinking that if the Pope recanted his decision to annul Katherine's marriage, Henry would listen to him. If she was honest with herself, those days had been over the minute Prince George was born.

She had spent a year or two after the birth clinging on to the hope that Pope Clement would change his mind and fix the mess he caused. But eventually she had come to terms that it was simply too late for anyone to do anything.

Anne's sons would succeed Henry when he died and now all she could hope for was that Henry would make a good marriage for her daughter. All she could hope for was that the granddaughter of Isabella and Ferdinand would be the Queen Consort if she could not be the Queen of England.

Mary was not the only one questioning God's plan but unlike her daughter, Katherine was too tired to be angry about it. All she could do was hold her daughter and promise her that no matter what she had a grand future ahead of her.

"If Anne Boleyn allows it, you mean," Mary sneered sourly, thinking of how because of her stepmother she had been put below her half-sister despite being ten-years-older than her.

She would never stop loving her half-siblings and while she knew there was no hope for her mother, she could not help but think she would be better off with a stepmother who was not a selfish heretical witch.

"If Anne is as powerful as you think she is then she could have done much worse. She could have refused to allow you to be a princess again, she could have coaxed your father into not allowing you to come to court," Katherine said sternly, guessing her daughter's thoughts. "She treats you kindly, Mary, despite any ridiculous suspicions she has of you. As bad as you may think she is, she could be a lot worse. Besides we cannot keep thinking that she is solely to blame for your father's actions."

Mary grimaced but she did not argue as she was fully aware that her mother had a point.

* * *

It was nearly dusk when King Henry returned to court. After changing out of his riding clothes, he headed to his wife's apartments, nearly colliding with a woman coming out of them.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," she said abashed, falling into a deep curtsy, not daring to look up at him. Her blonde hair in loose ringlets.

"There is nothing to forgive," Henry assured her, his eyes tracing the girl's figure. "What is your name, my lady?"

"Eleanor Luke."

"And where are you off to, Mistress Luke?" the red-haired monarch inquired.

"To my quarters, Your Majesty, I have a headache and the Queen has given me leave to retire," she answered, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment, having to admit to the king that she wasn't feeling well. Queen Anne had only noticed because Eleanor had to leave her dance partner stranded as the lute was making her headache worse. Luckily her mistress was understanding and polite, assuring Eleanor that she would inform her dance partner that the queen had needed her elsewhere and that was why she had stopped dancing with him.

"Well, then I apologize for detaining you. I hope you will feel better soon," Henry told her kindly, stepping out of the way so she could go the shared bedchambers of the ladies-in-waiting without further delay.

As she left, he could not help but stare after her, thinking she looked fetching.

"Your Majesty," Charles greeted him, causing him to tear his eyes away from the young woman and greet his old friend. The Duke of Suffolk smirked playfully. "Should I send Mistress Luke a letter that when she is feeling better that you wish to see her in your bedchambers?"

Henry blinked, surprised by that abrupt question. Of course, he understood why Charles was asking him and he could not deny that perhaps his eyes had lingered just a little too long on Eleanor Luke's sharply body.

"I am afraid that I will not be in my bedchambers this evening even if she were to feel better. My beautiful wife will be keeping me quite occupied and I doubt that I shall leave her chambers till morning," Henry jested lewdly.

It might have been his imagination but he thought he saw disappointment in the Duke of Suffolk's eyes.

Deciding not to dwell on it, Henry entered Anne's apartments and joined in the merriment.

"My Lord, I was beginning to think you would never return to me," Anne purred as he cut in her dance with Sir Norris.

"How could I possibly stay away from such a tempting enchantress," Henry whispered in her ear, spinning her around.

"Mark, play a volta!" Anne commanded as she pressed her body into Henry's, causing his lust for her to grow.

Henry was seriously considering carrying his queen to her bedchamber at this very moment and make good on his words to the Duke of Suffolk.

* * *

While the King and Queen were enjoying themselves, Bishop Fisher was holding a sermon, once again trying to convince the English people that Anne Boleyn was leading the kingdom to heresy.

Of course he was very careful not to say the queen was a heretic but everyone there was fully aware who was to blame for the changes to the church of England. Fisher insisted that the English bible that was being distributed and the two monasteries that had been closed, albeit for legitimate reasons, was just the beginning. If the King did not get rid of certain people who were bewitching him, he would soon turn fully Lutheran, dragging all of England into hell.

Eustace Chapuys was pleased that despite the small number of men at the sermon, they seemed to full-heartedly believe in what the Bishop was saying. Surely the more people they convinced, they could get good Catholics like More and Queen Katherine to realize that their cause was not lost.

Even if they could not restore Katherine to her rightful title, at least they could find a way to bring the King's harlot down and replace her with a good Catholic Queen who would not only undo the heresy but also help the whore's brats grow up to be as faithful Catholic as their half-sister.

Although the Spanish Ambassador would prefer that George Fitzroy was not deemed legitimate and was instead replaced by the true heir Princess Mary, he knew that as long as Boleyn witch died, she would be unable to influence the King or her children, turning them away from the true faith.

"The witch should be burnt for her sins!" a man shouted from the pew.

"If only King Henry was not so infatuated, she would be," the man beside Chapuys grumbled.

The Spanish Ambassador glanced at the man sitting next to him, recognizing him as one of the King's grooms. His lips curved upwards as he realized just how valuable this man was too him.

Fearing that Cromwell's spies could be hiding here, Chapuys waited to approach the man after the sermon was concluded.

"Sir William Brereton, at your service, Your Excellency," Brereton introduced himself.

"A please to meet someone as like-minded as I. Together I hope we can bring the whore and her dratted family down before they destroy England forever," Chapuys said, extending his hand for the man to shake.

"It has to be God's will that the King's Concubine dies," Brereton agreed, shaking his hand. "I swear that I will not let you down."

Chapuys smiled. One way or another, Anne Boleyn's time would soon end and the evil spell she had cast would at last be broken.


	8. Foolish Mistakes

_**February 9 1532 **_

"Victory is mine once again," King Henry laughed as he displayed his cards for his wife to see.

"Ah, it seems that I am on a losing streak tonight, my love, I think I shall claim that I was distracted by your handsomeness," Anne decided with a smirk.

"Madam, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were trying to flatter me in hopes that I would become too flustered to concentrate on our next game," Henry teased her, grinning wolfishly.

"Whatever do you mean?" Anne giggled, fluttering her eyelashes at him as she redealt the cards.

They were about to begin their next game when a messenger came with a report from Cromwell. Henry scowled darkly when he read it.

"God damn that man. Can't he ever keep his mouth shut," the red-haired monarch snarled, crumpling the paper up and throwing it into the fire.

Anne signed, knowing instinctively who her husband was angry at. "What has Fisher done this time?" she asked, wondering what it was about her that the Bishop hated so much, he was willing to anger both the King and the Pope by disparaging her marriage to Henry. Surely his continued assault of her character was not just out of stubborn loyalty to the Dowager Princess of Wales and her daughter.

"He is holding sermons about how you are leading England and I astray," Henry snapped. "As if corrupt churchmen like him haven't opened my eyes to England's suffering."

Cromwell sent men to various monasteries and abbeys, some of them had gross injustices such as brothels and coining factories. Not even Pope Clement himself had made much of a fuss when Henry shut those illegal and ungodly institutions down even though His Holiness did caution the King to be careful that he doesn't start following the path of Luthor.

How could Fisher continue to blame Anne when she had given England two healthy heirs? And did he think that Henry was a weak man who could be used as puppet without any thoughts of his own?

"I grow tired of his foolishness. I think I shall send More to him with a warning that if he does not stop spewing such slander and nonsense against your good name, I shall have him sent to the Tower," Henry snapped.

"God willing that will be enough to shut him up," Anne said with a sigh. She smiled sweetly at him. "I think I shall forfeit the game and perhaps play you a tune on the lute. Would you like that?"

Henry grinned at her. "Nothing could please me more," he told her, taking her hand in his as they left the cards on the table and moved to a different room.

Although his anger melted away, soothed by the music and the sweet song Anne sang to him, he still could not help but seethe over Fisher and his flock. They were becoming too loud and it would only be a matter of time before there was another attempt on Anne's life.

If that happened, Fisher would find himself a head shorter.

* * *

"Fisher calls for the removal of the Boleyns and the loathsome toad-I believe that would be Cromwell- before they send all of England to hell," Thomas Boleyn read as he scowled at the report in front of him. "According to Cromwell's spies, the number of people has increased slowly and surely with each sermon. We better do something about that loudmouth before he manages to convince every single Englishman to rise up against us."

"Father, I think you are being paranoid. With Anne's acts of charity and her idea to turn the two monasteries that were closed down into a school and a poorhouse respectivly, Fisher can talk all he wants but he can never hope to turn everyone against her. Especially not after the birth of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York," George pointed out.

"Yes, Anne's detractors have fallen into a minority but it takes only one man to shoot a gun. If Fisher manages to incite even a few men against Anne, the next trip she takes could turn into a riot," Wiltshire said gravely. Even if his daughter managed to escape unscathed, there would be bloodshed. "We have to silence the Bishop permanently before it is too late."

"And how exactly will we do that?" George inquired, his voice soft as he could guess the plan forming in his father's mind.

"Tell me, George, have you been writing to Anna of Cleves as I asked?" Thomas inquired, deciding the less George knew of his plans the better.

"Yes, Father, I have," George replied, thanking God that he, Anne and Mary had learned German from their time in the Netherlands. "She seems quite nice and she loves to hear about my daughters."

"Good, good," Thomas said dismissively, not really caring about what his son was saying. His mind preoccupied with thoughts of how to handle that troublesome bishop and his allies.

George decided it would be better if he didn't question his father and simply pretended that he hadn't noticed the abrupt subject change or the murderous gleam in his father's eyes.

* * *

_**February 18 1532**_

She was now sixteen-years-old and she was a princess once again. Not the Princess of Wales of course but no longer was she called Lady Mary. As much as she still felt slighted, Mary knew that her situation could be a lot worse: Her father could be still calling her a bastard, separating her from her beloved mother completely and doting on her half-siblings while neglecting her.

"Why do you look so somber, my dearest heart? Today is special day worth celebrating," her mother told her, kissing the top of her head. Her eyes became watery, making her look melancholic. "You look so grown up and it feels like just yesterday I was holding you in my arms."

"Oh Mother, stop, you'll ruin your makeup," Mary teased her lightly.

"I'm sorry but you are almost a woman fully grown and I just can't bring myself to believe it," Katherine remarked, wiping the wet corners of her eyes.

Before Mary could say anything, they both heard the familiar call to make way for the king.

Mary, Katherine and their ladies curtsied when Henry came in. The King barely seemed to notice anyone else as he went straight for his daughter, embracing her.

"My dearest pearl, happy birthday," he told her sweetly, kissing both of her hands before turning to his former wife. "Princess Katherine, I'm glad that you are well enough to join us at court so we may celebrate this day together."

"I'm glad to be at court again especially on such a blessed day," Katherine agreed. Mary couldn't help but feel embarrassed and flattered by both of her parents' words.

"Come, your siblings are eager to see you," Henry commanded, offering his arm for Mary to take before extending the other towards Katherine. "Would you like to come, Katherine?"

"I would be honored," Katherine replied, a tight smile on her face as she laid her arm on his.

While Mary visited her half-siblings often and Katherine had always encouraged her to do, not wanting her to feel like she was betraying her mother by loving her half-siblings, the former queen of England had never interacted with the children of Anne Boleyn. Well she had spent some time with Annette when the baby and her older sister had to be far from the sweating sickness.

However, it had been different and perhaps easier for Katherine to be able to spend time with Annette even though she was proof that her husband had fallen in love with and married another woman. George and Edward, on the other hand, were the reminders of every son she had every lost. When she laid her eyes on their faces, she would feel nothing but the pain of what might have been.

Her son, her little Henry, Duke of Cornwell, would be twenty-one if he had lived. He would be already married and perhaps he would have made her a grandmother. And even if Mary was his only sibling, Henry would never have sought an annulment no matter what Anne Boleyn did or said.

Courtiers stared as the King walked towards the nursery with his daughter on one arm and his ex-wife on the other. Katherine wondered what they were thinking. Did they believe that this meant that the king was falling back in love with Katherine and would discard Anne Boleyn for her? If they did, they were fools.

She had no doubt that Henry's kindness came from the fact that he had won. He had gotten all that he wanted. If he had not, Katherine had no doubt that he would still be as cold to her just as he was all those years ago.

* * *

When they arrived at the nursery Anne was already there, playing a game with Annette and George.

"MARY!" Annette shouted joyfully, running into the arms of her big sister, chattering excitedly. "I missed you so much! Happy Birthday!" The way she was talking, anyone would think she hadn't seen Mary in years instead of only a month.

While Mary fussed over her sister, Henry walked over to Anne and gave her a hello kiss, leaving Katherine feeling quite left out of this family moment. She studied the Prince of Wales, deciding that he did look very much like her husband and she had no doubt that her dead son would have had the same appearance.

"Thank you, Annie, I'm glad to see you too. I'm sorry I missed your birthday," she said apologetically, hugging Annette before embracing Georgie. Then she turned both of her half-siblings, getting them to face her mother. "I want to introduce you to my mother, Infanta Katherine of Aragon."

Using her mother's Spanish title was easier for Mary as she knew it would hurt her mother to be called the Dowager Princess of Wales. If King Henry complained about her using such a loophole later, Mary would tell him that she thought calling her mother the Dowager Princess of Wales might confuse Annette and George who were far too young to understand the complicated nature of the Great Matter.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Highnesses," Katherine greeted them, making a shallow curtsy.

"My lady, it is an honor to meet my sister's mother," George said more formally than a three-year-old should be capable of. He bowed while his sister curtsied. They both smiled up at her in such a way Katherine could not help but smile back.

"Mama, Papa, can I show Mary the present I picked out for her?" Annette asked eagerly.

"I helped," George protested, unwilling to let his sister take all the credit.

"We will be giving your sister all her gifts in an hour, sweetheart, can't you wait until then?" Anne inquired, giving her daughter a stern look.

"Oh, I just want to show it to her, Mama. She can see it now and we'll present it to her later," Annette suggested.

"I would like to be surprised," Mary pointed out, smiling down at her sister. "Trust me, leaving it as a surprise always makes the gift much better."

"I guess that's true," Annette admitted grudgingly.

"Come, why don't I tell you and George a story to pass the time," Mary coaxed her as she sat down, letting her siblings sit on her lap, leaving the three adults to stand in the corner by the crib of the Duke of York.

The baby was lying in the crib, dozing peacefully, a sweet expression on his face.

"You know once the wet nurse was woken up to Ed crying and when she arrived, she found Georgie in his nightshirt, trying find out why his little brother was crying and what could he do to soothe him," Henry recalled, smiling lovingly at the baby in the crib. "Sometimes I wonder if Arthur was ever as protective over me."

Anne and Katherine exchanged a look, both unsure what he wanted them to say to that.

"Of course he loved you, Henry," Katherine assured him. "He would tell me so many stories about you and your sisters."

"I'm just glad that they have Hal and Mary. After all, even the Prince of Wales needs someone to look after him," Anne remarked, glancing at her stepdaughter who she knew her daughter and son adored.

"He has us as well," Henry pointed out, slightly amused by his wife's words. "Not to mention he is practically Annette's shadow."

"I just meant it's nice that they have siblings to look up to. Edward has George and George has Hal and Annette has Mary," Anne explained.

"I'm glad that they do. Mary loves her younger siblings especially Annette," Katherine remarked. When she met Anne's eyes, she knew that her hidden message had been received.

No matter what happened, in the past, present or future, their daughters would not be rivals. She would not fight her baby brother for the English throne. And for all for her hopes and dreams that she and Mary could reclaim their rightful positions, Katherine would never want her daughter to have to turn against her blood.

* * *

_**February 25 1532**_

John Fisher was dead as were the guests who ate dinner with him. It seemed that a cook had poisoned their food and despite the bishop eating very little, it was fatal enough to kill him.

Thomas More was unnerved and not only because he had meant to be at Fisher's dinner party and had only declined Fisher's invitation because he had a family obligation. By the time they had concluded which cook had poisoned the food, he had already fled with his family to parts unknown. Without him, whoever ordered the poisoning of Fisher would remain uncaught.

However, More was fairly certain that he knew who was behind it and it was unlikely that he would ever be punished for it. That didn't mean the Lord Chancellor wouldn't try to convince Henry of that vile man's guilt.

"It's very unfortunate, Sir Thomas, that innocent men should suffer a death like this. For all of his faults, Bishop Fisher was a pious man and I shudder to think that he should be taken so brutally," Henry said with a sigh was they walked down the corridors.

Thomas noted that he looked truly outraged. Perhaps he would punish Boleyn for his crime instead of letting him get away with it just because Fisher had been against Queen Anne.

"It's more than unfortunate, Your Majesty. Fisher's cook has fled and we are currently searching the countryside looking for him. When he is found, he shall be arrested and executed for his crime of course," More informed the king who simply nodded for him to continue. "But I must tell you that there are rumors abound as to the identity of those who plotted against Fisher and hired his traitorous cook."

"Who?" Henry demanded.

"Wiltshire has been named and well, some people even blame Queen Anne," Sir Thomas replied.

"Some people will blame her for everything! They blamed her for Princess Katherine's barrenness and my love for her. They blamed her for the Pope's decision and for the changes in England. They will blame her if it rains or if the rains fail. They'll blame her for the wind that destroys our crops and the storms that sink our ships. It's all the fault of Anne Boleyn. What about you, Sir Thomas? Do you blame her? Do you think she tried to poison Bishop Fisher?" Henry demanded, furious that More would even dare hint at Anne being responsible for such a crime especially when she believed it was best to let him squawk as the evidence that he was wrong kept building.

"Your Majesty, I just think that Her Majesty's family had the most to gain," Thomas told him, wishing he had never brought up Anne in the first place. "Harry—"

"The time for Harry is over," Henry snarled before storming off.

As he watched the red-haired monarch stomp away, seething visibly, Thomas realized that he needed to resign from his position as Lord Chancellor immediately before it became the literal death of him.

* * *

Queen Anne was knitting clothes for the poor along with her ladies when her husband burst into her chambers, looking like an enraged wildcat ready to strike the first person who crossed him. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed all her ladies-in-waiting. The minute they left Henry went into an angry tirade about his discussion with Sir Thomas More.

"He dared to accuse you of committing such a heinous crime, I should have his head for this!" Henry ranted as he paced around the room, his feet were pounding so hard against the floorboards, it was almost like he wanted to break them in half.

Anne swallowed her own anger at More's gall to focus on calming Henry down before he did anything he would regret. It was entirely possible that it was not only More who suspected her or her family's hand in Fisher's death and if More was killed soon after-even if he died by the executioner's blade-all the work she had done to gain the love of the people would be for naught and the good will she had cultivated would vanish in an instance.

"Henry, it matters not what other say about me as long as you know that I would never call for anyone's death," Anne began, stubbornly ignoring the voice in her head that reminded her that the same could not be said for her uncle and father. "You do know that, don't you?" She of course knew he didn't but she knew by saying that it would shift his focus from his anger at More to his love for her.

At once the red-haired monarch relaxed and he went over to Anne, kissing her fingers before speaking. "Of course I know that but it angers me so when people blame you for things you have never done," Henry murmured, wishing he could protect Anne from those who spoke badly of her. "Regardless, I do not want him here if he is so suspicious of you. Later I shall tell him that he is to leave his position as my chancellor and advisor."

"If that is what you wish, Henry, then you should do so but for now, let us focus on happier things such as our little Ed's first birthday," Anne pointed out, knowing the mention of any of his children was sure to get Henry in a good mood.

It wasn't that she wanted More to continue to be at court but she feared that if Henry banished him and then he died of an illness, it would only make the dark cloud of suspicion hovering above her grow even bigger.

* * *

Meanwhile at Auckland Castle, Chapuys was just telling Katherine and Mary about Bishop Fisher's death. Although, they had not known the man personally, both women were grieved to lose such a loyal ally.

"Unfortunately, the cook who committed this foul act has yet to caught," the Spanish Ambassador was saying, a grimace on his face. "Despite this, there have been rumors around the country about who had the most to gain from Fisher's death."

"The Boleyns, you mean," Katherine said with a sigh. Of course the Boleyns would be the number one suspects, they were the ones Fisher spoke out about the most aside from Cromwell but barely anyone knew about him. "I don't pay attention to rumors. After all, it's entirely possible that the cook was a heretic and decided to silence one of our church's great protectors."

"Perhaps," Chapuys agreed, although his tone was doubtful. "But Your Majesty, I fear for you and you, Your Highness." The Spanish Ambassador smiled kindly at Mary, not wanting her to think that he was excluding her even if his words were directed to her mother. "If it was one of the Boleyns or one of the Howards who hired the cook to poison Fisher, they might try to do the same to you both."

There was no anger or deceit in his voice, just genuine worry.

"No, if they were to-" Katherine trailed off, grabbing Mary's hand in hers, squeezing it and then swallowing hard before she continued to talk. "They would be the most obvious suspects."

"Your Majesty, with all due respect. They are the most obvious suspects now but they have nothing to fear because the King would never allow anyone to investigate them let alone allow his beloved's relatives to be arrested. With such protection who knows what they might do; what _she_ might do to be rid of her rivals."

"With all due respect, Your Excellency, your logic is flawed. She already has three healthy children in only five years of marriage. The people love her for the heirs she has added to the long empty royal nursery and all the charity work she has done for them," Katherine pointed out in a sardonic tone as it still hurt that the people who had once declared that they would never accept a Queen Nan, now celebrated her. "My daughter and I have few allies and are no danger to her or her children. As for Fisher, there were barely any men who listened to his sermons."

"Yes but those numbers have been increasing lately and that could be why the Boleyns decided to act now as they fear that more will start clamoring for your cause if their enemies are not silenced," Chapuys stated, a grimace on his face.

He had already been convinced that the whore needed to die but now he was even more certain. Brereton had an idea that might work but Chapuys feared that they had to attack quickly before she could use witchcraft or poison to destroy these two women who had done nothing but been her roadblocks to her complete control over England and the king.

Katherine's face paled as her thoughts raced. She was beginning to understand now. Whoever the mastermind was, be it Norfolk or Boleyn, they were fools. She realized what they feared would happen that Fisher would incite a more experienced marksman to shoot Anne or incite a rebellion. Those foolish men had killed a good if not misguided man and they had now made a martyr for his cause.

They thought they were eliminating a problem but Katherine had no doubt that the trouble had just begun.

"Thank you, Your Excellency, you may go," Katherine said calmly, extending her hand for him to kiss.

If Chapuys was offended by her cold dismissal, he did show it on his face. The pity in his eyes made it clear that he understood that she was afraid, although he was not right about why she was afraid.

"Mother?" Mary inquired after Chapuys had left and as Katherine knelt at the cross hanging above the mantelpiece. She joined her mother on her knees with her hands clasped together.

"If it was either Wiltshire or Norfolk who conspired against Fisher, then they might have just started a sequence of events that will spill much blood," Katherine whispered. "I hope that they will know this when their actions backfire."

"Mother, are you afraid for us?" Mary asked, unsure what her mother was so apprehensive of.

"No," Katherine replied vaguely not wanting to scare Mary with her thoughts.

If this ended as badly she feared it would, she knew deep in her heart that the end result would make King Henry more hot-tempered and more suspicious of Anne and their children's enemies than before.

* * *

_**March 30 1532**_

Anne was in a particularly good mood this morning. Her children were still at Oatlands Palace and they would be there until the court returned to London. Ed had said his first word a few days after his first birthday. She had just watched her brother spend all morning playing the horse for Janey, Marian, Georgie, Annette, Ed, Hal and Cathy. King Francis had suggested that they come for a state visit in France, something both Henry and Anne were looking forward too.

While there weren't as many people on the street as Anne gave them money and she thought she saw one or two suspicious glares being thrown her way, the Queen was still in the best of moods as she continued her rout.

She had just stopped a few yards away from a priory when she heard a shout: "ALL HERETICS MUST BURN!" Then sticks that were lit on fire were thrown down to the streets.

Anne's guards surrounded her, trying to shield her with their cloaks as they weren't carrying any actually shields. Paralyzed by fear, Anne could not move even though she knew should be fleeing the fire that was raining down from above. The guards managed to get her and her ladies in the carriage as the chaos on the streets grew worse.

By God, what was happening? Why was this happening?

"KILL THE HARLOT! KILL SATAN'S MISTRESS! KILL THE MURDEROUS WHORE!" the same rabble rouser as before screamed as Anne's carriage tried to flee.

As Anne comforted her two ladies, she suddenly realized that one was missing. It always had been her, her sister, Nan and Madge who would go one these outings. George sometimes came with her but today he had chosen not to something that Anne was now glad for especially when she could not see her older sister anywhere.

"Where is Mary?" she demanded even though she doubted that either Madge nor Nan knew the answer. "Where is my sister?"

"She probably took shelter in the priory, Your Majesty," Nan assured her as she comforted Madge who was sobbing hysterically. "I think the most important thing is to get away while we still can and go fetch her later."

Unfortunately, Nan's words were drowned out by the ringing in the Queen's ears and her pounding heart. Adrenaline and fear coursed through Anne's veins, robbing her of common sense and she jumped out of the carriage, fully intending on running to her sister's side, no matter what danger she faced.

"Mary!" Anne screamed desperately as she tried to make it through the panicked streets. "WHERE ARE YOU! MARY!"

She could smell burning flesh and hear pained screams but she couldn't be certain where it was coming from. Everything seemed to be blurring together. She didn't even feel the people bumping into her as they ran for their lives nor did she feel the dagger stab her side.

Neither she nor the guards who ran up to her realized that she had been stabbed nor did they realize that the culprit had used the panic and madness in the street to disappear before he could be identified as the King's groom: Sir William Brereton.

All Anne knew was she couldn't see her older sister anywhere. It wasn't until she felt a pain on her side and when she touched it, her hands became stained with blood, did she realize she was hurt. Then darkness overwhelmed her senses and she fell unconscious.


	9. What Could Happen?

_**March 30 1532**_

King Henry glowered at the men responsible for the calamity in Surrey. These men had burn marks on their hands as they had not been careful when they handled the burning sticks they had thrown at the Queen and her people. At first, they were proud at what they had done, not even fleeing when the guards confronted them and arrested them. Now they shivered fearfully as they stood in front of their fuming king. Perhaps he would have pitied these pour souls if he had not been so angry.

"Are you aware of what you have done? Do you feel no guilt for your crimes?" Henry demanded, his eyes flashing as he recalled the Evil May Day that had happened a decade ago. Only this time there would be no queen to save the mob's necks. "You injured thirteen of your own countrymen quite badly and out of the thirteen, three have succumbed to their injuries. And if that wasn't bad enough, one of you stabbed my wife. Queen Anne has given England two heirs and you rewarded her with a knife to her hip. Thankfully, she survived, otherwise I would have killed you all with my bare hands. Despite my relief that my wife is alive, the fact remains that you have committed treason and harmed good and innocent people. Make no mistake, you will be executed for your crimes."

The men looked terrified by their king's words and some even dared to beg for mercy but Henry just glared at them with no sympathy in his eyes before he summoned the guards to take the prisoners away.

He had not decided whether or not they would simply be hanged or if they were to be burned at the stake instead. After all being burned alive would be symbolic after they had conspired to do the same to innocent people. No matter what the punishment he chose for them, he would make sure they were paraded through the streets and whipped severely before their deaths.

"Did any of them confesses to stabbing my wife?" Henry asked Cromwell who was in charge of interrogating the prisoners before they were brought before their enraged monarch. He wanted to be sure that the man responsible got the worst of the flogging than the other prisoners.

"No, Your Majesty, in fact they seemed surprised when they learned she was stabbed," Cromwell said, a frown creasing his brow. "Of course they could be trying to save one of their own's skin but considering they know that they will be executed anyway, I'm inclined to believe that they truly have no idea who stabbed the Queen."

"Is it possible that we simply haven't caught all the men who were part of this mob?" Henry inquired, hating the thought that the would-be assassin might escape from his just deserts.

"While a few did slip past of guards, using the fleeing crowd as cover, I fear we might not ever know who they are. These men barely knew each other aside from being followers of the late Bishop Fisher," Cromwell explained, his tone apprehensive, fearing the king might blame him. "I will continue to try to track down whoever was behind the attack but I would be a liar if I said I was certain that he will be caught. In the meantime, I believe that it might be better if Queen Anne refrained from walking through the streets anymore."

Henry nodded in agreement before dismissing Cromwell with a wave of his hands. If the traitorous knave was not among the captured prisoners and did escape justice, at least they could protect Anne from any further attacks.

He hoped that at the very least the death of these traitors would make those who wished to harm his wife have second thoughts, knowing it might be them facing the fire if they dared to commit treason.

* * *

"Mama, Mama!" Annette and Georgie cried as they ran into the bedchamber, climbing up onto her bed and hugging their mother tightly.

"Be careful, darlings, I'm a little sore," Anne told them softly, grimacing as Annette accidentally pressed against her recently bandaged hip.

"Sorry, Mama," Annette apologized, joining her brother on the other side of their mother.

"We heard that bad men hurt you and Aunt Mary with fire and knives. We were so worried," George explained, his arms around his mother's neck, a dark scowl on his face as he recalled how he and his sister had overheard Lady Hubert telling Lady Bryan what had happened in Surrey. He and Annette had been aghast when they heard both their mother and their aunt had been hurt.

"I apologize, Your Majesty, when Lady Hubert came with the news, I should have made sure that the children were out of earshot," Lady Bryan said, looking rather abashed at her thoughtlessness. She couldn't even scold the children for eavesdropping as she had known that they were there but made the mistake of assuming that she and the other governess were not being too loud.

"It's quite all right, Lady Bryan, you may leave us," Anne commanded, wanting some alone time with her children. Once the governess had left, the auburn-haired queen spoke gently to them, choosing her words carefully, not wanting them to become even more frightened than they already were. "There were some bad men who did attack us but your papa's guards managed to catch them and they will be punished for their crimes." She didn't add that these men had managed to injure eleven innocent bystanders as well as herself, a guard and her sister.

The guard had been hit in the face with one of the burning sticks as he and another guard tried to protect Mary when they had gotten separated from the rest of the group. By the time, they reached the priory for shelter and aide, the poor man was already in great pain and he died hours later before a physician could be summoned.

Another burning stick had landed on Mary's dress but thankfully the heavy fabric had stopped her from being burned too badly although she still had to be drenched in cold water once she arrived at the priory.

As for Anne, she had woken up in the palace where a worried Margery Horseman was dabbing her forehead with a wet cloth. Dr. Linacre arrived and told her that she had been stabbed, thankfully the attacker had not been able to drive the knife in too deep and had not managed to hit her vital organs. Her wound was free of infection and would heal in a matter of days.

After informing her that her sister was alive and well and answering her inquires about the wellbeing of the common folk and her guards, the royal physician told her that it would be best if she stayed in her bed for the next day or two as she had been through a lot both emotionally and physically.

Henry had visited her shortly afterwards, expressing relief that she was well and promising that he would be spending the rest of the day with her after he dealt with those responsible for the horrors of the day.

"Good. I hope they never get a chance to harm you again," Annette said firmly, kissing her mother's cheek.

"I will never let them or anyone else have a chance to hurt any of my family," Henry declared as he strode in the room, having heard his daughter's last sentence and knowing instinctively who she was talking about. He walked over to the bed, ruffling Annette and George's hair before giving his wife a chaste kiss. "Those traitors will receive the proper punishment for their actions, dearest. I have already made arrangements for the families of those who lost their lives to receive money and those who were injured will be put in the best hospital."

"I'm glad," Anne said, hugging both Annette and George to her chest. She pitied the families who had lost their loved ones but she was still thankful that it was not her or her sister who were among the unlucky few.

* * *

Mary usually shared her sister's ladies-in-waiting's chamber but for now she was lying in a chamber in the Boleyn's apartments, so she could be cared for by her mother and there would no fellow ladies around, gossiping about how badly she was injured.

"Her upper back and arms will be red and swollen for some time, I would suggest putting this cooling paste on them every hour until her skin is back to the normal color. However I've noticed that there are few places on her skin where the color is almost purple which might be an indicator that she will have some scars," Dr. Linacre explained, hoping that they would take comfort in that fact that she was among the people who got burned and still lived with minor injuries.

"I see. Thank you, Dr. Linacre," Thomas Boleyn said calmly, his tone dismissive, indicating he wanted the royal physician to leave them alone.

The doctor made a shallow bow before leaving the Boleyn apartments, probably off to tell the queen the same thing he had told her family.

Elizabeth Boleyn left to apply the paste to Mary's burns, leaving her son and her husband alone.

"This is all your fault, Father, you know that right?" George snapped, his eyes shooting daggers at his father.

"If you know what's good for you, you will not continue that line of thought," Thomas hissed, glaring at his son.

"Are you threatening me?" George demanded.

"Don't be a fool. I still need you to give me a grandson so my name doesn't die with you," Thomas drawled dryly, letting out a humorless laugh. Had this been any other time, George might have pointed out that his father had plenty of younger brothers, some of them had grown sons who would probably have sons of their own which meant that the Boleyn family name was not in danger.

"If it weren't for you, neither Mary nor Anne would have been attacked," George told him fiercely, struggling to keep his voice low in case anyone could hear him.

"Or they would have," Thomas contradicted. "For all we know Fisher could have incited a mob to attack Anne while she walked through the streets, handing out money, clothes and food to the poor. If she had behaved sensibly and foolishly let herself be so exposed, she would have never been in danger in the first place."

"Anne has been doing going out there for almost a year and Fisher has not been able to incite any sort of violence against her. Then a month after he is poisoned, a mob decides to listen to his nonsense. Fisher's death only inspired these brutes to act on his hateful words and it's all thanks to you," George whispered, loud enough for his father to hear. "Be glad that I care too much to hurt our family by revealing the truth because otherwise, I would inform the king of our little talk."

"You would do that to your own flesh and blood," Thomas demanded.

"Father, if it were me suspected of treason, I have no doubt you would sell me to the devil himself if it would save your reputation," George spat, his lip curled in disgust before he spun around and walked away.

Thomas Boleyn sighed. He knew his son was right but there was little he could do about it. After all, if he were to come clean now, it would only harm his daughter's reputation as the people would either think he was covering for her or she had to have known of his plans.

He was just glad that God had not chosen to punish him by letting his daughters die.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Spanish ambassador had traveled with the rest of the court to Oatlands Palace and was now using a secret chamber to discuss the day's events with his co-conspirator.

"What were you thinking!" Ambassador Eustace Chapuys demanded. "You could have been caught."

It was bad enough that the mob had managed to only harm five members of the whore's entourage and the one who died was an innocent guard instead of the Boleyn witch herself.

Had anyone recognized Brereton as the man who stabbed the false queen or worse if one of the men in the mob had learned the identity of the man who had convinced them that they would be doing God's work if they attacked Anne Boleyn, Chapuys had no doubt that Brereton would have been tortured until he named Chapuys as his partner in crime which would mean his downfall. And even though neither the Pope, the Emperor nor Katherine of Aragon knew or even hinted that they wanted Chapuys to try and kill the whore, he knew that their enemies would waste no time planting seeds of doubt in the King of England's mind.

"She was getting away, I had to do something," Brereton protested, remembering how angry he had been when it looked like the whore had gotten into her carriage and it looked as though she was about going to escape unharmed.

When she left the safety of her carriage, managing to run past her guards and into the hectic crowd, the groomsman thought this was God's way of giving him a chance to kill her. He knew that he had only one shot and he prayed that his dagger would strike her kidney and that by the time, she got medical attention she would already have lost too much blood.

As much as he wished that he could have slit her throat or at least stabbed her twice, he knew that if he did so, the guards would see him and capture him. While he would gladly die a martyr's death, having saved England from that vile witch, he was aware that if he was caught, it was entirely possible that her family might convince the red-haired monarch that Brereton and Chapuys were working under the orders of Queen Katherine and her daughter.

Unfortunately the groomsman learned that his knife had barely wounded the King's concubine and after leaving the Spanish Ambassador, he would go to the chapel and beg God for forgiveness for failing Him and England.

"I know I failed this time but I swear that next time, I will be successful, I will kill her," Brereton swore, his eyes gleaming with determination and hatred.

"You must be more subtle next time. In fact perhaps she should die the same way she killed poor Bishop Fisher," Chapuys suggested.

"Yes and perhaps I will kill her bastards in the same way," Brereton agreed, causing Chapuys to look startled. "She is Satan's mistress and they are Satan's spawn. They must die also or else her evil will forever poison England's mind against the true Queen and the true Princess of Wales."

The Spaniard hesitated, realizing that his conspirator had a point. Although he was loath to harm children, as long as they lived, they would be in between Princess Mary and the throne of England. However, it was entirely possible that with the right guidance from Queen Katherine or if King Henry instead on calling her his brother's wife, a Catholic stepmother, Prince George would become a good Catholic monarch.

"No. Anne Boleyn is the one who needs to die not her children," he said firmly.

William Brereton did not argue but Chapuys could tell that he did not agree. He couldn't help but shudder once Brereton had left the room.

While he knew that if he felt it was absolutely necessary, Chapuys would agree that Boleyn's brats should die but he never would be so eager to want them dead.

* * *

_**May 1 1532 **_

They would be leaving on progress to London in less than a fortnight but for today, they decided to put what had happened on that dreadful day in March behind them and celebrate Mayday.

"Anne, I don't know what to do, there are two beautiful ladies begging for my favor and I don't know who to choose," George complained in a stage-whisper.

"You could wear both of our favors, Papa," Marian suggested, giving her father a sweet smile, showing off her dimples.

"Then Uncle George will have two ribbons on his lance and it will look silly compared to the other knights," Cathy pointed out, she looked a little sad as she realized that there would be no one to wear her favor or her mother's.

"I have an idea, why don't we give you one ribbon and you can still win the tournament for the both of us," Janey suggested, giving her father a kiss on the cheek.

"A splendid idea, my dear sweet girls," George laughed, pinching both of his daughters' cheeks before excepting the ribbon, Marian tied around his lance. Then he went off to put on his armor as he would be competing next.

Anne searched the stands for Mary, wondering what could be keeping her. While the queen had been out and about, two days after her ordeal, determined to show that she was not cowed by someone trying to hurt her, it had taken Mary a little longer to heal from the emotional scars of watching a man die from his burns especially when the dark red marks on her back reminded her of what had happened.

After a few minutes of scanning the crowds, Anne saw her oldest sister talking a man wearing Henry's livery. She recognized him as one of the King's guards who usually accompanied them when they went into town, distributing food and clothes to poor personally.

Her sister soon finished talking to him and joined the Boleyn family in the royal box.

"Who was that?" Anne asked, keeping her voice low so their father would not hear and suspect that something untoward was going on.

"Who?" Mary questioned before realizing what her sister meant. "Oh that was William Stafford, he was the other guard who was with me when we got separated. I hadn't seen him since we were brought back to the castle so I would to express my condolences for his friend and thank him for trying to protect me."

It might have been Anne's imagination but she could swear that her sister's nonchalant words did not match her slightly flustered expression.

Before she could question her sister further, Henry rode up to her.

"My queen, I require something of yours," he told her playfully.

"Oh? Are you sure you do not want the favor of another lovely lady?" Anne inquired, nodding her head towards their daughter.

"May I, Papa?" Annette asked excitedly, not noticing the envy on her older cousin's face.

"How can I refuse you, my sweet girl. A knight can never refuse the request of a fair maiden," Henry declared, winking at his son who looked quite excited to be at his first joust.

Annette tied her handkerchief around her father's lance and clapped delightedly as he rode off to start the joust.

"Do you think your husband will wear your favor when you are during your visit to France, Annette?" Marian asked, sounding slightly envious. Despite being a few months older than Georgie, she and her sister were to stay behind in England while their cousins were going to be in France except for baby Ned.

"They're not married yet, silly," Janey giggled, finding it funny that her sister would think that Annette was already married despite her young age.

"I knew that, I just said the wrong word," Marian protested, sticking her tongue out at her sister.

"The dauphin is too young to joust, sweetheart," Anne explained gently, not wanting her nieces to get into a fight.

"I can't wait until I'm old enough. Then I'll be a knight just like Papa," Georgie declared, beaming as he watched his father win a match against another knight.

"I know you will," Anne whispered, stroking her son's hair, affection in her eyes. She just hoped he would be a good king and a good husband as well.

* * *

_**May 18 1532 **_

On the journey to London, the royal family shared a carriage as they traveled down the roads. The events in Surrey weighed heavily in both Henry and Anne's minds and they did not allow their eager children to stick their heads out and wave at the cheering crowds.

But at the last nobleman's estates they were visiting, Henry decided that he wanted to show his family off when they entered the city of London until they reached Westminster Palace.

He decided that Annette, Edward and Anne would share a litter while he rode on horseback in front of them with Georgie in his arms. He hoped that the sight of the Prince of Wales, Duke of York and the Princess would remind his subjects of the three healthy heirs Anne had given England in just five years of being queen.

Anne was a little worried about having her children be so exposed but she knew that the guards surrounding the litter and Henry, would gladly take whatever a treasonous scoundrel decided to throw at them.

Luckily her fears proved to be groundless as the royal procession were greeted by nothing but smiling faces, cheering and shouting well wishes to them.

Anne held Ned on her lap, waving the toddler's hand for him. Princess Annette was practically bouncing up and down in her seat, throwing kisses to the people in the crowd, loving the attention she was receiving.

In front of them, the three-year-old Prince of Wales rode with his father. At first he had seemed a little nervous to ride on a horse, which looked massive to the young boy, even though he knew his father would keep him safe.

Now Georgie seemed to be enjoying riding even pleading with his father to get the horse to gallop instead of simply trotting.

"If we did that we might trample the men in front," Henry told him before adding coyly: "But perhaps tomorrow after my meetings, we can have riding lesson just you and me. Would you like that?"

"I would, Papa," Georgie said excitedly, his eyes shining.

Henry smiled down at his son, pleased at the thought of teaching Georgie riding himself instead of leaving it to George's tutors like his father would have.

"God save our long hoped for Prince of Wales!" someone cried, their voice managing to be heard over the din of the crowd.

George waved to the crowd with a little less flair than his sister but no less enthusiastically.

"Papa, what does long-hoped for mean?" the little prince inquired, faintly remembering when he and Annette were brought to see Ned when he was just born, he had heard a lady-in-waiting say that after many years of an empty royal nursery, England finally had the heir and spare it had needed for so long.

"It means that your future subjects are very happy to have you," Henry replied, his tone affectionate. He hoped that answer would satisfy him because he really did not want to have to explain to a three-year-old about the Great Matter and how before him, everyone was afraid that there would be another civil war.

"Why? I'm not special," George said, his brow furrowed in confusion and he sounded bewildered rather than modest or meek.

"On the contrary, you are a Tudor prince and more importantly my son which makes you very special," Henry contradicted, using the arm he had around George for protection to pull the boy closer.

"I'm Mama's son too," George pointed out, unwilling to let even his father forget that his mother was special as well.

Henry chuckled, turning his head slightly so he could glance back at Anne whose smile made her look even more radiant.

A decade ago, Katherine and he were still reeling from the death of their Prince Hal. Now his new queen had given him a Duke of York a few months after the ten-year anniversary of the death of his firstborn son.

Although some people might continue to demean and slander Anne, no one could dispute that she had given England two princes, saving the Tudor dynasty from dying out after only two generations of kings.

"That is true, my boy," Henry agreed, kissing the top of his red hair.

As the royal procession continued their journey, Henry thoughts drifted to the horrible events in Surrey.

The traitors had been reviled in the streets with people calling them wicked men, booing them as they claimed to be avenging the Bishop Fisher who had surely been killed by the Boleyn's orders.

Although they still had not located the man who stabbed Anne, Henry prayed that this would be last of the violent acts towards his wife. The man who shot her had missed and the man who stabbed her had not managed to kill her. But what if she wasn't so lucky a third time?

Henry shook his head, unwilling to let such horrible thoughts mar this lovely day.

* * *

_**May 23 1532**_

Thomas More had deemed it best to wait until the court had settled in Westminster before going to the King with his resignation. He was glad that the king seemed to be in a good mood when the herald announced his name.

"Sir Thomas, have you come to welcome me home," Henry greeted him with a pat on the shoulder, bidding him to rise from his bow.

"While I am most willing to do so, I have sought an audience with you for less happier matter, Your Majesty," Thomas said, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

"Say on."

"Your Majesty, I come to offer my resignation from my post as chancellor. I ask Your Majesty to allow me to withdraw from public life so that I may spend what time remains to me provisioning my soul, and in the service of God," Thomas began, holding out velvet bag for the king to see. "In this bag I carry the great seal of my office which I find now too heavy to hold."

"I discharge you, most willingly. In everything you have done for me, Sir Thomas, you have always been good and gracious both in private and in public affairs," Henry told him with a polite nod of his head. He did not mention that he had been thinking of sacking More anyway, only to be convinced by Anne to wait a few months. He had to admit that there was a part of him that was relived that his old friend was resigning and therefore saving himself the humiliation of being fired and banished from court.

"Majesty, I promise on my honor that I will never speak publicly of the changes you are making to the church. But now, in private I must confess to you, as someone who once enjoyed Your Majesty's confidence and friendship, my deepest belief that the people you view as your closest friends are leading you down a dark path into heresy. I beg of you to stop now and rid England of all of Lutheran's followers and ideals," Thomas implored him earnestly. "There. I've said it. Now my lips are forever sealed."

"Thomas, I will hold you to that promise," Henry informed him gruffly, clearly not moved by his old friend and tutor's words.

Sir Thomas More bowed and walked backs out of the room, his heart was heavy. He knew that great change was coming to England and he feared that soon King Henry would start cleaving his bounds to the Catholic Church one by one.

But there was nothing he could do. He could only prayer for Henry's soul and pray that it would not be as bad as he feared it would be.

God help them all.

* * *

_**August 31 1532 **_

William Warham, the Archbishop of Canterbury was dead and Anne didn't need her father to tell her why this was a good thing.

For the past four years, they had slowly been turning the King towards reformation, pointing out the abuses of the monasteries, even pointing out that men like Fisher were using their positions as God's messengers to further their own agenda.

However, as much as Anne, Cromwell, and Thomas Boleyn were loath to admit it, they all knew that they could not speak out against the Pope, at least not yet. After all, the reason why France was so eager to arrange English matches for two of his children-aside from it angering the Holy Roman Emperor- was because the prince and princess of England were accepted by the bishop of Rome.

Not to mention, if King Henry had separated from Rome during the early years of their marriage, Anne was sure that Pope Clement would have withdrawn his blessing and the people of England would have cleaved to Katherine and Mary's side within seconds especially if Warham, a friend of the Pope's, spoke out against Anne.

Now that he was dead, Henry had sent a letter to Pope Clement, requesting that Thomas Cranmer be made the new Archbishop of Canterbury, recognizing him as a supporter and friend of Anne and a man with a strong grasp on theology.

Slowly but surely England was getting rid of the dogs that licked the feet of the Bishop of Rome and replacing them with good men who saw the abuses done by the clergy and were turning their eyes towards reform.

Anne wasn't sure when she began discussing the matter of Luther with Henry but one day she found herself showing him her copy of _The Obedience of a Christian Man_. To her delight, he was instantly enthralled by it.

"Listen to this, Anne, it says here: 'This belief that pope and clergy possess separate power and authority is contrary to scripture. The king is the representative of God on Earth and his law is God's law. The ruler is accountable to God alone and the obedience of his subjects is an obedience required by God. For the Church and the pope to rule the princes of Europe is not only a shame above all shames but an inversion of the divine order. One king and one law in God's name in every realm,'" Henry recited, growing more animated with each sentence he read. "This book is a book for me, and for all kings. And to think that this is forbidden."

In truth, Henry realized that this had not been the first time he had made such a hasty conclusion. While he did not agree with Luther about everything he wrote, he could see why the man had come to those conclusions about the corruptness of the Catholic Church.

It may have worked out splendidly but Henry was not so blind to realize that his request for an annulment had been granted far too quickly. He would have loved to believe that Clement had seen the justness of his case but he was rational enough to realize that had Emperor Charles actually managed to sack Rome and make the Pope his prisoner or if he never quarreled with the Pope in the first place, Clement might have been more inclined to side with Katherine in order to appease her powerful nephew.

"Well I believe that Wolsey and More viewed the book as dangerous and they wished to hide this one and other books like it detailing the abuses of the clergy from you," Anne pointed out, as she moved closer to the fire, feeling a bit chilly. "If they weren't so closed minded, they might have realized that there is nothing dangerous about these books."

Her husband nodded, his expression dark. "You know two years ago, Cranmer mentioned that because kings are set above the law and are answerable to God alone, who anointed them, my Great Matter was never a legal matter but a theological one," Henry said, closing the book, a thoughtful look on his face. "He said that if I had chosen to canvass the opinion of theologians at colleges around Europe, they would have most certainly found in my favor. I suppose that is an option we should keep in mind for later."

Anne grimaced, knowing what her husband was alluding to. There were rumors that Pope Clement was growing ill and might not live for another year. If Cromwell's spies could be trusted, the Emperor was already bribing cardinals to elect his candidate to be the next Pope.

"Surely they cannot be so stupid to annul our marriage. That will only make the Catholic Church seem as corrupt as Luther is saying it is," Anne remarked. Although a part of her knew that if this new Pope did state that his predecessor was wrong and that Katherine and Henry's marriage was in fact valid it would give them a perfect excuse to separate from Rome, she couldn't fathom the church worsening their credibility like that by changing their minds a third time.

"Unfortunately even without the Emperor's prodding Clement's successor might not feel he has a choice. There have been Catholic and Lutherans alike condemning Clement's decision, even comparing him to Pope Alexander VI," Henry informed her with a frown. "They believe that the only reason he has annulled my marriage to Katherine is because the Emperor attacked Rome and I helped defeat him. The worst part is I agree with them."

"Oh? Do you regret that he did so?" Anne could not help but tease her husband with a coy smile.

"Knowing that it would have taken longer to marry you and I would not have my Annette and George, I must admit that I am pleased that the Pope chose to spite the Emperor in this way," Henry agreed, grinning at Anne as he gestured with the book. "Although I am quite intrigued with the idea of being the supreme head of the church, I suppose I will pretend to be under Pope Clement's thumb for a little while longer. After all, you have taught me that good things come to those who wait."

With that said, he tossed the book aside and pounced on Anne, kissing her lips passionately. His wife shook off her cloak, no longer feeling cold even though her husband was stripping away her layers.

* * *

Miles away at Auckland Castle, Mary had just received a letter from court, an invitation to go with Henry, Anne, George and Annette when they made a state visit to France this Christmastide.

Although, the trip to France had already been decided upon months ago, it had taken a while for the two royal families to agree when they would go meet each other. To her father's credit, he had already hinted that he hoped she would come when he had first told her of his and Anne's plans. Mary supposed that he was only sending her a letter because she was not at court and so he thought to make a formal invitation.

"If I went, I would get to see my cousin Eleanor," Mary pointed out as she discussed the matter with her mother over dinner.

"Sweetheart, you know that I'm fine with you going to France especially when I know that your father and your siblings will love to have you there with them," Katherine assured her, thinking that Anne would probably not object but she might take umbrage if the French Queen chose to spend time with Mary instead of her and her children. A slight that might not be so imagined. "However, I fear that my niece might cause trouble believing she is helping us by being rude to Anne."

Mary frowned, not quite understanding where her mother was going with this. "What trouble do you mean, Mother?"

"Of the top of my head, she might ask you to dine privately with her, be more eager to talk to you than with anyone else, drop hints that you might be a better match for the Dauphin. She might not even do it to help us but to sabotage the French-Angelo alliance," Katherine explained.

"Do you really think a born and raised woman of royalty would act like so unseemly?" Mary inquired, slightly bemused. She would expect that sort of behavior from Anne whose bouts of temper were as legendary as her father's but not from a true queen especially one related to her composed and pious mother.

"No but I would rather be safe than sorry. I don't want Anne or Henry to blame you if things go wrong," Katherine said, her eyes downcast as inwardly kicked herself for speaking so brazenly to her daughter. Perhaps she was worrying needlessly or perhaps she was unconsciously trying to stop Mary from leaving her side. "Forgive me, sweetheart, these are just the worst-case scenarios and I don't want you to miss out spending time with your father."

"There will be other times for that, Mama," Mary told her gently. "Besides, perhaps we can go spend time with Ned while his parents and siblings are gone."

With Hal Fitzroy joining his father, stepmother and half-siblings on the trip to France, it would only be the baby Duke of York in England.

"All right, if you are absolutely sure that's what you want to do. I don't want you to stay because you fear I will be upset if you don't," Katherine murmured, remembering how Henry had once accused her of poisoning their daughter against him. While his statement was largely untrue, the Spanish Princess could not deny that there were times when she could tell that her beloved daughter made her decisions based on how she thought her mother would react.

"I'd rather stay here with you."


	10. Glorianna

**_December 24 1532_**

**_France_**

"Behave like a French Queen not like a Spanish bitch," King Francis had whispered in his wife's ear as he led her outside onto the snow-covered lawn.

Queen Eleanor wanted to roll her eyes at him or slap him for that comment which she had no doubt was only said to upset her. Her husband enjoyed getting raise out of people especially her. He had to know that she was trained to keep her true emotions masked and would not treat Anne Boleyn like the concubine she was. He was baiting her, perhaps this was his passive aggressive way of reminding her that despite being the Emperor's sister, she still had to act like a meek and obedient wife.

Of course the fact that her sister-in-law and husband seemed so eager to see the English King's concubine did not help her growing irritation. Not to mention that the entire French court seemed to be making such a spectacle to welcome King Henry, his whore and their two bastards to England was nothing short of shameful. Did none of them have any respect for the great Queen Katherine of Aragon who had lost so much thanks to the Boleyn witch?

The royal English ship, _Mary Rose, _had already landed on the French shores and a sentry had spotted several carriages coming up on the road to the palace where the English men and women would meet their French counterparts as they began the celebrations.

King Henry and Queen Anne stepped out of their carriage, they were wearing their finest furs and they had bright and cheery expressions as their feet crunched on the snow. Their two children jumped out of the carriage, looking as though they wanted to run out in the snow and play but their mother caught both of them by their hands before they could, saying something that caused their father to laugh.

"Brother, welcome to our fair shores," Francis greeted Henry, kissing both of his cheeks. "I am happy to see you again as I am to see your beautiful wife, Queen Anne." With that, he kissed Anne's cheeks as well.

"It is good to see you as well," Henry said amicably, pleased by Francis calling his wife Queen Anne, a reminder that despite the Emperor's best efforts, the French King knew what was right and just. "May I introduce my children to you?"

"Of course."

"My son, Prince George of Wales, Duke of Cornwell and Earl of Chester and my lovely daughter, Princess Annette."

The four-year-old Prince George had golden-red hair and looked exactly like his father. He seemed a bit shy, not liking the fact that he was the center of attention but he bowed when his father brought him forward, keeping his eyes low and greeted King Francis politely.

Princess Annette (since she was to be a French Queen using her French-sounding nickname was apt) looked just as much like her mother as her brother looked like their father. She was clearly more outgoing, smiling as she curtsied not even having to be prompted to do so and greeted King Francis with girlish delight. She looked past the king to observe the French children, obviously trying to guess which of the three princes was her groom-to-be.

"Delightful and handsome children. Speaking of which, allow me to introduce my children. First, my dear Princess Annette, this is my son the Dauphin Prince Francis, Duke of Brittany," Francis began, beckoning over a tall thirteen-year-old boy with a pale complexion. At once Anette straightened curtsying when she saw him, looking pleased that she would be marrying such a dashing prince. Francis bowed to her and kissed her hand, making her giggle before stepping back to his siblings. "Prince Henri Duke of Orléans, Prince Charles Duke of Angoulême, Princess Madeline and my youngest daughter, Princess Marguerite."

Nine-year-old Princess Marguerite stepped forward and curtsied to George who finally looked up and managed to smile at her before realizing that everyone was watching and quickly continued to avoid everyone's eyes.

"They are a handsome bunch," Henry complimented, clapping his son on the shoulder.

"Lastly but no less important, I would like to introduce my wife Eleanor of Austria and you both know my sister Queen Marguerite of Navarre," King Francis introduced. "Shall we go inside before we freeze to death?" he suggested after pleasantries had been exchanged.

"Is it cold? I hadn't noticed," Henry jested as they walked into the place.

Francis laughed boisterously.

"Glad to see you haven't changed a bit," he declared, smiling widely. Behind the two kings, Marguerite and Anne chatted in French about mundane topics.

Once inside the two parties separated to give the English time to settle in before the banquet started.

Eleanor dutifully followed Francis, giving him a rather annoyed look.

"I didn't see your English mare among the courtiers. Perhaps they left her at home for another rider," Eleanor sneered coldly.

"You were doing so well," Francis said with a sigh. "But you just can't help yourself by being vicious."

"Oh? Says the person who called her his English mare in the first place," Eleanor pointed out, feeling an ounce of sympathy for the poor girl who was publicly mocked by her lover. "And something tells me history might repeat in more ways than one after all neither you nor the English king will ever grow up."

Francis chuckled, actually amused by his wife's gall.

"Someday I might actually curb your tongue," he warned her, an edge of desire in his voice.

"No you won't. You'd hate to actually treat me like a wife as my cousin forced you to marry me," Eleanor stated, smiling coyly.

"And yet there are some days where I am tempted to do so," Francis said with a smirk before turning around and walking to his chambers, his groomsmen following close behind.

Eleanor shook her head in exasperation before going to her rooms, her ladies trailing behind her, discussing Queen Anne and how her appearance had not been what was predicated.

In a few hours she would have to play nice with the Great Prostitute of Europe. She might not like Anne or Henry for that matter but she loved her stepchildren and she would never ruin their marriages even if she thought they could do much better than two bastards.

For now, she couldn't help but enjoy listening to her ladies discuss whether or not Anne Boleyn really had a sixth finger or moles hidden on her body.

* * *

The banquet went off without a hitch with the two courts enjoying themselves with both the food and the entertainment. Francis and Henry seemed to behave themselves, only throwing light-hearted barbs at each other every so often.

Soon the tables were cleared for dancing. The thirteen-year-old Dauphin did not look happy to be dancing with his young fiancée especially when she had to stand on his shoes. Prince George looked terrified as his mother pushed him over to Princess Marguerite.

"Would you like to dance with me?" George asked while his mother translated his request in French.

"I would love to," Marguerite replied in English causing George's eyes to light up in delight either at the fact that she sounded so excited or that she had learned English meaning he could speak to her more easily.

Although he was a little clumsy, he still led Marguerite out with all the graciousness of a gentleman. Marguerite did not even seem to notice her dance partner's nerves and talked energetically with him. Her jovial demeanor was infectious and soon George was much more relaxed and mirroring the smile on the older girl's face.

"Oh, aren't they just adorable?" the Queen of Navarre gushed, smiling at her niece who unlike her nephew clearly adored the company of her young betrothed. "I know they are far too young for anything other than friendship but I can't help but think the seeds of romance have been planted."

She and Anne giggled at thought of the two children growing up and being madly in love even before the French princess arrived in England. While many believed that romance had no place in arranged marriage, it still would make for a wonderful love story to be told to future generations.

"Well it wouldn't be the first time, romance happened because of a dance. Henry and I were attracted to each other from the moment our eyes met during a masquerade," Anne reminisced dreamily.

Although, she certainly had not fallen in love with Henry as fast as he had with her, she couldn't help but remember how fast her heart had pounded when the red-haired masked man had declared her his prisoner.

There was some irony that the whole reason the fateful masquerade that brought the two of them together was being performed in the first place for the ambassadors of Katherine of Aragon's nephew.

Queen Eleanor frowned, thinking how her poor aunt could never have predicted that instead of the masquerade being the start of the marriage agreement between Emperor Charles and the Princess Mary, it was the start of the so-called Great Matter where she would be unfairly downgraded to the title of Princess of Wales, forced to pretend that her title belonged to another woman: her own lady-in-waiting who was inferior to her in every way.

"He may be too young for romance but like his father before him, he has fallen for a lady a few years older than him and I have no doubt that no woman will come close to living up to her," Eleanor remarked, making a thinly veiled reference to Henry falling in love with Katherine of Aragon when he was only the eleven-year-old Duke of York.

Anne's smile became strained as she could guess her French counterpart's meaning and she gripped her glass of wine tightly, trying not to lose her temper and make a scene at the banquet, shaming her children as well as her husband and the rest of the English court.

"Well I can only hope that he and the Princess Marguerite will be as happy and blessed as his father and I are," Anne said sweetly. "I must say Your Majesty, King Francis seems to be an excellent dancer."

"Yes, I suppose he is," Eleanor muttered dryly, glancing over at Francis who was dancing with his mistress. "Men like our husbands seem to enjoy entertaining lovely ladies. Not that we can complain as it is their right to take mistresses whenever they feel the urge to do so. My husband was so infatuated with his previous mistress for a number of years but eventually he tired of her and moved on to another. As I recall your husband has done the same with women like Elizabeth Blount."

"Eleanor, that's enough," Marguerite of Navarre hissed, knowing full well where her sister-in-law was going with that statement.

"What? I'm not telling her anything she doesn't know," Eleanor said innocently.

"She is quite right, Marguerite, I do know that. Thankfully, my husband prefers my company as he has for the past eight years," Anne pointed out, her words sickly-sweet. "And I'm sure my son will be just as devoted to his wife."

Feeling quite awkward and slightly worried that a fight was about to break out between the two queens, Marguerite quickly intervened, choosing a lighter topic that she knew Eleanor would have no interest in.

They chatted for several minutes before King Henry decided that it was high time for another dance with his wife.

"Forgive me for not being able to keep my eyes on you but I can't help but look at our daughter. I can't believe how much she is growing to be a fine princess. God willing she'll be a future queen," Henry laughed as he twirled Anne around so she could catch sigh of their daughter.

"It is quite all right considering I am constantly thinking of both our sons," Anne said with a loving smile, thinking of Ed who was all alone in England, not that the one-year-old would even notice.

"I can only hope that soon Edward will have a little brother of his own," Henry remarked. He could picture it now: Prince George, Prince Edward and Prince Henry, the three sons of Tudors. Unlike the three sons of York, they would never lose their brotherly bounds.

"And what if the next baby we have is a girl?" Anne asked, keeping her tone casual with only the slightest edge in her voice.

"Then we shall have a Princess Elizabeth who will equal her mother and sister in beauty and grace," Henry assured her. After all, he had his heir and spare, another healthy princess was just as good as having three princes.

God had blessed them so much in the past six years, how could a second daughter be anything else but a blessing?

Anne beamed at him, pleased by his answer.

Queen Eleanor was not the first person to hint that Henry would tire of her and there were times when Anne feared that would be the case. But she knew her husband well enough to understand that it wasn't simply a matter of becoming bored of her.

As long as Anne was the mother of the three healthy children- God willing she would have more than three- Henry would never turn away from her. Furthermore, he had often credited her with saving him from the sweating sickness.

Even if she only had daughters and no more sons, Henry would never be angry at her for she had given him his heir and his spare. No matter what her enemies thought, Anne had no cause to worry for her future was secure: as Queen and as keeper of the King's heart.

* * *

**_December 31 1533_**

**_England_**

With the King and Queen gone to France with a few favored courtiers and servants, the Christmastide celebrations were rather subdued and there were only a few nobles at Whitehall Palace.

George strode through the nearly empty corridors coming to a stop when he saw a familiar face.

"Andrew, I haven't seen you since the day Cromwell stole you away from my household. How are you doing, lad?" George exclaimed, clapping the fifteen-year-old boy on the back, ignoring the stares he got from the servants who were unaware of the remarkable circumstances that brought the orphan to his household in the first place.

"Quite well, Your Grace," Andrew said, smiling bashfully. Four years had passed since he had left the orphanage and while he could hardly be called invisible-just last month Prince George had sought him out to thank him for his favorite toy-he had assumed that once he transferred to being a ward under Master Cromwell's tutorage, he would be treated as though he was just another lowly clerk, unworthy the time of a son of a duke let alone a queen. God knows enough people called him the Queen's pet and refused to believe that he had actually had any merits of his own aside from the Boleyns' favor. "I hope you are having a happy Christmas."

"I am. I was just on my way to see my darling daughters and I must not delay but here, some coins to buy you and your friends some drinks to keep you warm," George said with a wink, taking out a few crowns and pressing them into Andrew's hand before walking away before the flustered boy could stammer a thank you.

The Earl of Ormond's mood only got better when he heard the laughter of his daughters coming from their bedchambers.

"Papa!" Janey and Marian exclaimed, rushing towards him as he kneeled down, his arms outstretched so they could run into his warm embrace.

"I'm sorry that I've been gone so long, my sweet girls but I promised your aunt that I'd go check on Eddie," George apologized again. He had to admit that it annoyed him that Anne insisted he check on her son when surely she knew that the toddler had an entire household to look after him. But he supposed being so far away from her youngest child, Anne felt surer of the Duke of York's continued health if the report came from his own uncle. "He sends his love and wishes you both a happy Christmas."

"I hope you wished him the same from us," Janey said with all the seriousness of someone older than four.

"Of course I did," George replied with mock-offense on his face. "He's not the only one who wished you a happy Christmas. Anna wanted me to wish you a happy Christmas as well and I've told her how much you enjoyed her presents." Janey and Marian exchanged nervous glances. Their father had sat them down weeks ago, explaining that by next year, they would be getting a new stepmother: Anna of Cleves. They were excited upon learning of the news; as much as they loved their governess, grandmother and aunts, having a mother would be rather nice. However now they seamed weary and almost worried. "What's wrong, my little doves?"

"It's nothing, Papa," Janey deflected, looking down at her feet as she often did whenever she told fibs.

"Will we still be your little doves when the new baby comes?" Marian blurted out, ignoring the stern look her sister threw her. Her bottom lip was quivering and it looked as though she might burst into tears.

"Of course you will. Who told you differently?" George demanded, struggling to control his temper.

Thomas Boleyn had made it abundantly clear that he wanted a grandson and while George wouldn't mind having a son (who would not have the name Thomas), he would never love his daughters any less.

If the Duke of Wiltshire had been heartless to stress the importance of having a grandson in front of his granddaughters, making them feel worthless, George would find a way to make his father pay for his cruelty.

"Hal said that you didn't like us when we were born because our brothers and Mother died around the same time," Janey explained, putting an arm around Marian who still looked to be at the verge of tears. After learning that they were getting a new mother, the Boleyn sisters had wondered what had happened to their old one and after getting no straight answer from the adults they asked, they went to their older cousins. While Cathy had been diplomatic when telling them the truth, the Baron of Hudson had let it slip that their father had avoided them for weeks after their birth until their Aunt Anne had intervened.

"He said that?!" George exclaimed furiously before calming down, realizing it was not in the nature of his six-year-old nephew to be so unkind. Obviously neither Henry nor Catherine were old enough to understand what was happening four years ago and they must have gotten their information second hand. "Girls, what exactly did your cousins tell you?"

"Mama went into labor when everyone was really sick and she was giving birth to four babies. We lived but our brothers and Mama didn't. You were so devastated that you didn't want to even look at us," Janey recalled then she asked in a small voice: "Did you blame us, Papa?"

George stared at them before bringing them back into his embrace, inwardly scolding himself for his previous actions. To think he was just fearing that his father had upset Janey and Marian when in truth, it was his own cruelty that troubled them.

"No, my darlings, never. You must understand that I lost three people in a very short period of time. I was afraid that I would lose you too so I kept away, thinking that my absence would protect you," George murmured, embellishing just a little. He didn't want to voice that he had actually stayed away because he thought if he didn't see them, he wouldn't be so sad if they died least that tempted fate. "But once I held you in my arms, I knew that I could never let you go."

* * *

Her brother was not pleased when the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk had declined his invitation to accompany him to France. Luckily Mary was ill enough of the times that he believed Charles when he used it as an excuse to stay in England.

Oddly her illness did not stop the Brandons and their children from spending Christmastide at Auckland Castle with Katherine and Mary.

While Mary spent time with her cousin and Charles busied himself writing letters to friends and family, Katherine and the Duchess of Suffolk decided to catch up.

"I still can't believe he chose Norfolk over you to be regent," Mary grumbled as she sipped her wine. She didn't remember how the conversation turned to the Howards but she was not about to stop grousing and venting her displease. "As if the concubine's dratted relatives don't have enough power as it is."

"Oh come now, Mary, you know that Norfolk has been regent before," Katherine pointed out. Of course she had been in France with Henry during that time but her point still stood that Norfolk being regent wasn't out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was less about Thomas Howard and more about Mary's husband not being chosen as regent.

"It's not that by itself, Katherine. George Boleyn is marrying the daughter of the Duke of Cleves, Norfolk's daughter is to be wed to Hal Fitzroy and from what I hear, Norfolk's younger brother is trying to court Margaret's daughter. Not to mention recently, Wiltshire approached my husband about a match between one of his granddaughters and my Henry," Mary explained, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "What if they try marrying Mary off to a Howard as well? That way they can tie all those of Tudor blood to their insipid family."

None of her children would marry the Boleyns' brood if she could help it. Unfortunately, she was certain that if she and her husband flat out refused, Wiltshire might go to the King and Henry would probably be thrilled that his nephew, godson and namesake would be marrying one of his wife's nieces and he would insist that such a match happened.

Mary hoped she would not live long enough to see it if that was the case.

"Henry has said that he will find a royal husband for Mary," Katherine said firmly. Besides she was sure that Thomas Boleyn and Thomas Howard were more interested in their daughters being duchesses than truly caring that they were tied by blood to the Tudors especially when they would be the grandfather and great-uncle, respectfully, of the next king. "She is a princess and therefore he would never marry her to someone below her status."

"Well unfortunately, I'm not so sure I trust my brother's promises," Mary scoffed, anger flashing in her eyes as she recalled the promises he had broken not only to her but also to Katherine.

While King Henry did love his daughter, he still had placed her behind her younger sister in the line of succession at Anne's request. With two sons in the nursery, Mary could guess that Anne could request that her stepdaughter be married to one of her Boleyn cousins who didn't even have a knighthood and Henry would agree to it especially if he thought people where still championing Mary over his sons.

"Your concern for your niece is touching but perhaps we should not mar your visit with talk about the Boleyns and the Howards," Katherine suggested piously.

"Forgive me, sister, but sometimes I feel that because I know you have already forgiven them, I should be angry at them for you," Mary told her with a sigh, reaching over to pat her arm.

* * *

**_February 6 1533_**

Princess Annette had been so happy that she got to celebrate her birthday at the French court. They hadn't intended to stay so long afterwards but there had been a snowstorm and her parents had not wanted to take the chance that the ship they sailed back to England would get destroyed by another storm.

So they waited until the weather was far more pleasant to set sail for home. Francis had bidden her goodbye politely, kissing her hand graciously. Despite this, Annette knew he only saw her as a child but she hoped that when she was older, he would look at her much like her father looked at her mother.

For now, she was just happy to have gotten her first taste of the French court.

"To think in eight years, we'll be in Calais again but I won't be going back to England afterwards. Instead I'll be the French Dauphine," Annette gushed, before turning to her brother. "And Princess Marguerite will be your wife."

Georgie grinned at the thought of his upcoming wedding to the pretty princess who would be eighteen by then. Unlike Francis, who was ten years older than his bride-to-be, she had never made Georgie feel like a child and had promised to write to him if he would write to her. She was nice to be around. There was just something about her that made him feel both intimidated and yet oddly peaceful when he spoke to her.

"Eight years is a long time, Nettie, are you sure you can wait that long?" Georgie teased his sister, hoping she had not seen his slightly colored cheeks in the dim candlelight.

"I'm going to be a queen, Georgie, I'll wait for as long as it takes," Annette declared, her eyes lighting up.

"Will you still come visit me when you are Queen of France?" George asked, not wanting his beloved sister who was practically his twin to gone forever.

"Of course I will, George, I'm sure Francis would like to see his sister from time to time," Annette guessed. She already had a clear picture in her mind of marrying Francis and being queen but that didn't mean she wouldn't want to visit her brother or have him visit her.

Before George could say anything else, their governesses came in.

"All right, you two, it's time for bed," Lady Bryan announced sternly, extending her hand for George to take so she could bring him to his room.

"Wait, we want to say goodnight to Mama and Papa," Annette said quickly, not wanting to go to sleep just yet. She was too excited. At least if they visited their father, she might be able to convince him to order Lady Bryan to let them stay up just one more hour.

"Please, Lady Bryan, can we just visit them?" George pleaded. He was unaware of his sister's ulterior motives but he did want to say goodnight to his parents.

Their mother had been cooped up in her room since they got on the boat and he wanted to make sure was not sick and if she was, he was sure that a visit from her children would help her get better.

Lady Bryan exchanged a meaningful look with Lady Herbert before shaking her head.

"I'm afraid your mother is quite seasick, Your Highnesses, and your father is busy comforting her. You can visit them in the morning if she's feeling better," she told them gently.

* * *

Anne retched in a bucket which one of her poor ladies would have to carry to the top of the boat and dump her vomit into the sea. She gave Madge an apologetic look as she wiped the sick off her lips with a cloth.

"Perhaps we should fetch the royal physician, sweetheart. I've never seen you this sick before on a boat," Henry said, rubbing soothing circles on her back with his free hand, holding her hair back with his other.

The queen could detect a hint of hope in his voice and could guess what her husband was most likely thinking of.

While there had been no storm when they traveled to France, the sea had been rather rough, violently jostling their ship to the point where there was some fear that they would be knocked off course. Despite the rough journey, Anne had not been seasick then and yet here she was emptying the content of her stomach since they had set off from the Calais port.

"Careful, Henry, it might be too early to get our hopes up," Anne teased him, keeping herself dangling off the bed as the bile continued to rise in her throat. "Why don't we wait until March before asking Dr. Linacre to check me."

By then, she would know for certain if missing her courses last month was just a fluke or not. Not to mention if she kept throwing up even after getting off the boat or at the very least was only sick in the mornings, rather than all the time would also be a clue to whether or not she was with child.

Despite telling Henry not to get his hopes up, Anne couldn't stop herself from getting excited.

* * *

**_February 11 1533_**

It was a pleasant day in February (less cold and drizzly than it had been for the past fortnight) when the King, Queen, Prince and Princess returned to London, allowing the citizens to stand outside waiting for a glimpse of the royal carriage as they rode past them.

And while it was a delight to be welcomed back so lovingly, Anne could hardly care about the crowd of people as her thoughts were preoccupied with the Duke of York. He would be waiting with his aunt, uncle and cousins when his parents and siblings arrived at Greenwich Palace and Anne longed to hold him in her arms again. It had nearly been two whole months since she had seen him last.

The road to the place seemed to stretch on forever and Anne was sure she was not the only one feeling a little stir-crazy. There had been a bit of bad weather that had delayed their journey from Dover to London just as there was back in France and it just felt as if it was taking them far too long to get back to court.

"According to Mistress Parr, Ned has been going through some temper tantrums, mostly due to teething," Anne recalled as she craned her neck out the window, hoping that she could spot the palace from her seat. "I remember how upset he was when we left Hatfield in December. I hope he'll be happy to see us."

"He is a Tudor, my love, quick to anger and quick to forgive," Henry assured her, knowing full well that he was quite a lot like Edward when he was a child, a little terror of the nursery.

Henry frowned slightly as he thought of his older brother who much like George was even-tempered and rather quiet (although Henry had no idea how his older brother acted when he was an infant). He hoped that the similarities between his two sons and him and Arthur wasn't an omen of what was to come.

Shaking that rather dark thought from his head, he took Anne's hand in his and gently squeezed it. Anne turned around to face him and kiss his lips.

"I love France but I'm very glad to be home," she murmured.

"I agree. After all, not only do we have Mary's birthday to celebrate, Edward will be two in a month and I look forward to reminding our daughter that France is not the only court who can throw such lavish feasts," Henry said, throwing Annette a mock-admonishing look before grinning wolfishly at her, causing Annette to giggle and Georgie to smirk.

Anne smiled adoringly at her husband and children before remembering how there was a possibility that there might be a new addition to their family in the next seven months. And there was something sweet about her and Henry conceiving the child in a country they both loved.

When they arrived at Greenwich, they were greeted by George who was holding little Edward in his arms. As Henry suspected the toddler was happy to see them and squirmed until his mother held him and smothered him with kisses.

* * *

**_March 28 1533 _**

Anna of Cleves felt rather nervous as she was summoned for an audience with the Queen. She had only just arrived at the English court (having landed on the shores a week ago) and was barely out of her traveling clothes when a lady was knocking on her door and handed her a letter-thankfully written in Anna's native German-with the Queen expressing her wish to see her soon-to-be sister-in-law at her earliest convenience.

Anna had heard many stories of Anne Boleyn-some nicer than others. Some said the Boleyns were nothing but ambitious commoners who used witchcraft to make the king to their bidding. Others said that Anne and her family were good people who believed in the true faith and were eager to spread it throughout England.

She supposed it didn't really matter what they were like-and the witchcraft angle seemed farfetched. After all, she was already a Boleyn by proxy and so their will was her own.

She just hoped that she would make a good impression. Her mother always said that she had not inherited the great beauty of her sisters and she knew very little English. Thank God, both her husband and his sisters knew German so she wouldn't have to completely rely on her translator.

After making sure she looked presentable, Anna walked to the Queen's apartments only to nearly bump into a man who was rounding the corner.

"Forgive me my lady, I was not looking where I was going," the man said apologetically before doing a double-take as Anna's translator whispered in her ear. She wasn't sure if it was because he had never seen her before or because he recognized that she was not of English birth just by looking at her clothes. Perhaps it was both.

"There is nothing to forgive, good sir, I was just on my way to visit Queen Anne and I was clearly too preoccupied with my thoughts to even notice my surroundings," Anna explained in German, hoping her translator would say that in a way that didn't sound as foolish.

"You must be Anna of Cleves. I must apologize again for my rudeness for that is certainly no way to greet my wife. George Boleyn at your service, my lady," George spoke in German as he took her hand and kissed it. "As fate would have it, I am on my way to visit my sister. May I escort you to her apartments?"

Anna could not help at smile at such a charming display of chivalry. "That would be nice. And while we walk, I would love to hear more about my stepdaughters. Are they at court?" she inquired, wondering if she would get to meet them.

From George's letters, she could guess that the two girls were hoping that she would be a mother to them and her heart arched for those two motherless girls so much that she had sworn that she would treat them as though she had given birth to them herself.

"I'm afraid they are at Grimston Manor presently but they cannot wait to meet you," George explained as he laid Anna's arm in his and led her through the halls of court to his sister's rooms with her maid and translator following close behind.

* * *

By the time, they had arrived at Queen Anne's chambers, Anna felt much more relaxed, her anxiety soothed by George's playful demeanor.

"The Earl of Ormond and Lady Anna of Cleves," the herald announced.

"Well I wanted to welcome you to England but it seems my brother has beat me to it," the auburn-haired queen jested, standing up and putting her book down so she could greet both George and Anna. "Welcome sister, it is good to finally meet you." She also introduced Anna to Mary Boleyn who greeted her with a hug.

"You as well. I am happy to be welcomed so warmly," Anna replied, this time choosing to speak in English as she knew that she would have to get used to speaking it as though it was her native tongue. She hoped that despite her heavily accented words, she had at least said the words right.

"I have a gift for you. I hope you will like it," Anne said sweetly, signaling to her lady-in-waiting to present a garment to the German woman. "I have a B necklace and I'm planning on commissioning a T necklace for my daughter. I thought you might like this to remind you of your home."

Anna smiled when she saw a silver chain with a jeweled C hanging off it. "It is beautiful, Your Majesty, I thank you greatly."

"Please, just call me Anne or sister," Anne implored her. She had not been so welcoming to Jane and God forbid she made the same mistake with her brother's second wife.

"May I?" George asked as he picked up the necklace. When she nodded her consent, he clasped the necklace around her neck.

"Thank you."

"Come please sit with us, I shall like to get to know you and I'm sure George and Mary would too," Anne requested, gesturing to the couch where her older sister had been sitting.

"I would like that," Anna agreed, pleased by how well this was going.

She hoped it was a good start to wonderful future.

* * *

**_May 1 1533_**

Queen Anne stroked her growing belly as she stared outside to where Lady Anna was playing with her stepdaughters. Despite the German lady knowing only a few English words, it was clear that she adored Janey and Marian and they seemed to love her just as much. Despite not even being eighteen, Anna had managed to become a mother to these girls despite only knowing them for less than a month.

It filled Anne with regret, knowing she could never hope to have such a close relationship with her own stepdaughter. Perhaps if Katherine of Aragon had died in childbirth, Mary would not be so averse to having a warm relationship with Anne. In fact, she might have even come to see her father's new wife as the mother figure she never had.

Of course, if Henry had met Anne as a widower, it all would have been easier as no one would have objected to the marriage in the first place. Some people might feel that a common woman was not a good replacement for a Princess of Spain but not even Bishop Fisher would have grumbled so much.

There would be no fear that a new Pope would try to appease the Emperor by annulling Anne and Henry's marriage. Annette and George would have had at least one older sibling. Princess Mary would never have been a bastard and Anne was certain that she would have been much happier as a result.

But it hadn't and would never be that easy. At least, she, Katherine and Mary had some sort of peace between them. They seemed to have accepted that Anne was here to stay and that George was Henry's heir.

At least, Anne could say one thing for certain while Mary would never truly accept her as her stepmother, she loved her half-siblings to a point where she would be cordial with Anne and that was something to be grateful for.

Still, there were days were Anne wished her stepdaughter would look at her the way her nieces looked at their stepmother.

* * *

Later that night, the court convened at the Mayday feast after watching a troop of actors performed a play about Robin Hood and Maid Marian.

"Charles, I cannot help but notice my sister's absence. Why is she not at court?" Henry asked, feeling slightly annoyed at Mary's continued snubbing of her sister-in-law. Everyone knew her opinion of Anne was far from kind- if rumors were to be trusted, she had called Anne a cheap nothing- but it wouldn't kill her to make an effort to be polite.

"She is feeling unwell," Charles told him, a silver of worry in his eyes. "She sends her apologies for not being able to come to court and hopes that you are well."

"Tell her that I miss her and I hope she will be feeling better in time for my birthday," Henry said, his tone lighter now that he knew that Mary was truly sick and not just using it as an excuse to get out of facing a woman she believed had supplanted Katherine.

"Mary would never miss your birthday, Your Majesty," Charles told him firmly. "She misses you greatly when she is away." He hoped that his words proved to be true as it seemed that ever since Christmastide his wife had been growing sicker by the day. Of course the Duchess of Suffolk was too proud to admit she was ill and would insist that she needed only a few days of rest and would be right as rain soon enough. Her husband was beginning to doubt her even though he didn't dare to speak those words out loud or even suggest the possibility that she might not recover from her illness.

Henry smiled fondly, pleased that his favorite sister missed him as much as he missed her. Perhaps the news she would once again be an aunt would rouse her spirits to the point where she would get better quicker.

Impulsively, Henry took Anne's hand as he stood up, holding his goblet up high with his other hand.

"My lords and ladies, I have some good news I wish to announce to you all. It seems that in late September, the Queen and I shall welcome another child to our family," Henry announced, beaming down at Anne who stood up so the court could detect that there was indeed a small bulge that was almost unnoticeable unless one were to look close enough. "I hope you will all drink to the health of our newest prince, the future Duke of Bedford."

The courtiers seemed to compete with each other over who could clap the most enthusiastically and who could give the warmest congratulations.

"Don't you think you might be tempting fate by already picking out his Dukedom?" Anne teased her husband, keeping her voice low so not to embarrass him.

"Perhaps I am," Henry replied jovially. "But if God wishes to prove me wrong, I shall not mind as another princess as beautiful as her mother would be a gift."

His queen giggled at the compliment.

"Either a Henry or an Elizabeth, either will do," Anne said delightedly.

_As long as they are healthy _Henry thought. He couldn't help but remember that his brothers were healthy when they were born and yet they both died before reaching adulthood.

But he shook his head, clearing it of those awful memories. God had blessed them, surely He would not take His favor away, not when everything was going so well.

* * *

**_May 30 1533 _**

Mary Boleyn was nervous. She knew that what she was doing was risky but the only other thing she could do was marry Sir William Stafford in secret which would surely end in her banishment.

Not that she cared. William had been an ordinary solider when they first met and he was only knighted after what had happened in Surrey, along with the other guards who had protected the queen and her ladies. He had not cared about her reputation anymore than she had cared about his lower birth.

He was kind and loving, a true gentleman. She did not want to be with anyone else but him.

Mary hoped that because he was now a knight, Anne might be more willing to grant permission, knowing that their family was of a similar background when Thomas Boleyn married Elizabeth Howard.

She knew that Thomas Boleyn would not be so willing as he preferred to pretend that he was always a duke as though he was a duke since his birth and not because he was the grandfather of the future King of England.

Had he always been a duke, Mary doubted that Sir William Carrey would have been chosen as a husband for her or that the Earl of Northumberland would have been against Anne marrying his son.

Despite her anxiety, Mary couldn't help but let out a derisive snort at the irony of Anne being seen as unsuitable for the son of an Earl and so instead she became the Queen of England much to shock of Hal Percy's haughty father.

"Are you all right?" Will asked, furrowing his brow in concern at his fiancée as they stood in the small group of petitioners, waiting for their turn to have an audience with the King and Queen.

Although they were truly seeking Anne's blessing, they both knew they would need the king's permission to marry as well.

"I'm fine," Mary said in a quiet voice, ignoring the courtiers who were staring and whispering about her.

As a widow, she wore her hair up which often allowed people to see the end of her burn scar just peaking past the fabric of her dress. Sometimes when she stood up too fast her back would ache, reminding her of the dreadful day in Surrey.

She and William had both been standing next the guard whose face had burned off. The sight of burning flesh and the sounds of his terrifying screams would forever play in their memories.

The one good thing that had come from that day was the fact that it had brought them closer. Mary could not help but feel that she could confide in William because he had been there with her and could understand what she was going through better than even Anne or George could.

He eased her troubled mind and did not care that she was the mistresses of two kings nor that she had scars that marred her skin. He loved her and she loved him. That was all that mattered.

"Lady Mary Carey and Sir William Stafford," the herald announced as Mary and William walked into the King's audience chamber where the two monarchs sat on their thrones. William bowed as Mary curtsied, not daring to move or look up until they were ordered to do so.

As she curtsied, Mary could feel the King's curious gaze and her sister's suspicious gaze on her and she prayed for this to go well.

"Rise," Henry ordered, wondering why his sister-in-law was with this guard. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a look of dawning realization on his wife's face.

"Mary, what is going on here?" Anne demanded, feeling just a little bit anger as she could guess what was happening and it bothered her that her sister had chosen not to tell her that she was being courted. And if this meeting was what she thought it was, why hadn't Mary told her in private instead of requesting a private audience with both her and Henry?

"Your Majesties, Sir Stafford has asked for my hand in marriage and I have accepted. We come here now in hopes you will give us your blessing," Mary explained, meeting her sister's eyes pleadingly.

Anne doubted their father would be happy about his eldest daughter marrying a lowly solider who had only become a knight a year ago. Although he had not bothered to find another husband for Mary since Sir Carey died, Anne had no doubt that while he could not possibly hope to get the same grand match he had gotten for George, let alone the one Anne had, he would prefer that Mary married someone with impeccable linage instead of a distant relation to the disgraced Staffords of Buckingham.

Even with the King's blessing, he might still disown Mary, leaving her and her husband to fend for themselves. Anne knew he sister well enough to know she preferred the country life to court life but she still had her children to think of.

There were times when her father still grumbled about her and George acting as benefactors to Andrew and there was no doubt he'd be upset if Anne chose to support Mary's marriage.

Well the days of listening to her father were long gone and if her sister wanted to marry William Stafford-who didn't seem to have a drop of ambition in him- then who was Anne to stand in their way.

She glanced over at Henry, silently asking for permission to respond. When he nodded, she turned back to her sister and the man beside her.

"Sir William, do you love my sister and promise to be a good husband to her and a good stepfather to her children?" she asked, keeping her tone carefully measured.

"I do, Your Majesty," William replied earnestly, taking Mary's hand in his.

"And you, sister? Do you love him?"

"Yes, I do," Mary replied, a small blush coloring her cheeks and a smile lightening up her face.

"Then you have our blessing," Anne decreed with a smile.

* * *

**_June 25 1533 _**

It seemed that with good news, bad news must follow. After watching both his wife's siblings get married, Henry's sister passed away. The Duchess of Suffolk had not been in good health since her brush with the sweat all those years ago but everyone had assumed that she was too strong and too stubborn to die.

Henry had locked himself in his room when he received the letter from Suffolk, telling him that his favorite sister- the one who would never miss his birthday-had died. He found himself regretting every argument he ever had with her, wishing he could go back in time and at the very least have given her permission marry Charles Brandon, forgoing Wolsey's plan to marry her to the old King Louis of France.

If he had done that, perhaps there wouldn't have been a strain on their relationship. Perhaps she would have sided with him instead of Katherine when the Great Matter had happened especially considering Katherine had never approved of Brandon, thinking Mary would be better off marrying her nephew instead.

But it mattered not. His dear sister was gone and Henry wished quite desperately that he could see her one last time if for no other reason than to say goodbye.

With Margaret in Scotland and the rest of their siblings dead, it had been him and Mary for the longest of time. Together they mourned their mother's death and then years later, the death of their father and grandmother.

Now Mary was gone and there was a great empty feeling, knowing that he had lost all of his younger siblings.

The door to his bedchamber opened and Henry's head snapped up, angry that someone dared to disturb him. But the angry reproach died on his tongue when he realized the intruder was his wife.

Anne said nothing as walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him. Henry felt oddly soothed as he touched her stomach as though the child that grew inside of her was consoling him as well.

"What can I do?" Anne whispered as she ran her fingers through his hair. "Tell me what I can do for you."

"Nothing, Anne, just stay here," Henry murmured, glad that she had ignored his wishes to be alone. He needed her.

"I've sent for George, Annette and Edward. I thought we could tell them about their Aunt Mary together," Anne informed him. "Your daughter and your son have been invited to court as well."

Henry doubted that was why Anne had sent for their children considering they were far too young to truly understand death. She probably could guess that he wouldn't admit that he needed comfort and so telling them of their aunt's death was just a convenient excuse to bring them to court so they could cheer him up. The fact that she had invited Princess Mary and Hal Fitzroy made him almost certain that was the case.

But he wasn't going to call her out on it or stop her for that matter.

"Thank you."

* * *

**_August 12 1533_**

Despite being a Duke twice over, not many people paid attention to Henry Fitzroy that much anymore. Of course people paid attention whenever his father wanted them to or if the Prince of Wales was seen playing with him.

There was a time when many people wondered if their King would declare his bastard son his heir but now that George and Edward were born, he was barely of note, mentioned only in passing.

And yet, he was still important to his father who wanted to make sure that his son had a worthy bride, fitting his station. He had the blood of a Tudor king even though he was born on the wrong side of the blanket, he could not just marry anyone and his father had chosen Lady Mathilda Howard as his future wife.

"I wonder if your sister all right with marrying a bastard," Fitz remarked as he and Hal walked in the royal gardens. The two boys had grown up together and had been boyhood friends since they grew up together at Windsor Castle.

"Even if she wasn't, I think my father is most pleased with the match," Hal pointed out with a laugh.

"Oh I'm sure he is. According to Mary, the Howards seem to be making sure that each of their relatives are marrying a Tudor," Fitz said, raising his eyebrow.

His half-sister had overheard a conversation between her mother and the late Duchess of Suffolk discussing how both Wiltshire and Norfolk seemed to have some grand plan tying their relatives with royalty.

While the Duke of Richmond and Somerset wasn't so sure that there was some sort of grand scheme, he did think that it was no coincidence that his father had chosen a woman who just happened to the cousin of his wife as his illegitimate son's bride. Whether it was the queen's idea or her uncle's, it was clear that they wanted to be sure that Henry Fitzroy was tied to their faction.

"Matilda is thrilled to be a duchess, Fitz, and she does think you are rather handsome," Hal assured him, clapping him on the back, carefully steering the conversation away from his father's ambitions. "Besides, I, for one, am happy to getting you as a brother-in-law."

"Happy enough to give me advice about marriage life, I hope?" Fitz asked, rather bashfully.

The Earl of Surrey was only two years older than him and yet he was already a married man and by next year, his wife was due to birth their first child.

Before his friend could reply, the sound of voices was heard around a shrubbery and when the two teenagers went to see what the noise was all about, they stumbled on a sweet scene.

George was dueling a dragon with Annette and Ned cheering him on. Surprisingly the "dragon" was King Henry who clearly was not even the little bit ashamed of bending down to mock roar at the four-year-old, playfully swiping at the wooden sword the Prince of Wales waved at him.

It was always a shock to see his father act so carefree and Fitz could not help but think with a small bit of envy that he had never been played with like that.

King Henry scooped Prince George up, swinging the laughing boy around.

"Sir George, quickly, while the dragon is distracted!" Fitz shouted.

The minute his father stopped to turn and look at the newcomers, George heeded his brother's words and slid his sword past his father's armpit.

"Alas, I have been fatally wounded!" Henry cried as he collapsed on the ground. "Sir George has won the battle and slain me! Alas. Alack! I, the fearsome dragon, am no more!"

"It was not just me. Sir Henry the Brave helped," George declared, running to hug his older half-brother.

King Henry grinned as he stood up and dusted himself off before marching over to them both.

"He is not a knight until you have knighted him, my lord," the red-haired monarch insisted, giving Fitzroy a wink before handing George his wooden sword and whispering in his ear.

"Kneel," George ordered Fitz, smiling at him. Fitz theatrically bowed before kneeling on the grass. He felt the wooden sword tap both of his shoulders. "Arise, Sir Henry the Brave."

"Me next!" Ned shouted, unwilling to be left out. He ran to his older brothers' side, looking eager.

"You have to kneel," George reminded him, waiting until the toddler did so before gently placing his sword on his shoulders. "Rise Sir Edward the…" He trialed off, unsure what title to give his brother.

"Loyal," Fitz suggested.

"Sir George the Dragonslayer, Sir Edward the Loyal and Sir Henry the Brave," King Henry agreed, a proud expression on his face. "What king could ask for finer sons?" he asked rhetorically.

Henry Fitzroy didn't mind not being as important as George and Edward or even as Mary and Annette but when his father acknowledged him in such a way, he couldn't deny that he had a feeling of pleasure.

* * *

**_September 7 1533 _**

Anne was not due to have her baby until last week of September or the first week of October. But early in the afternoon, just as King Henry was in his privy council meeting, a page dressed in the Queen's livery came bursting in, informing the red-haired monarch that his wife was in labor.

"I think that this time we will have no choice but to make the Emperor godfather, you tell Chapuys that if he drops him, it's war!" Henry declared, half-jesting. However if that wily Spanish fiend who insisted on calling his true wife a concubine and a harlot and his true heirs bastards in his letters to his master did anything to upset the newborn prince, he would find himself thrown out of England, forbidden to return.

"As much as I would love to see what the Holy Roman Emperor's reaction to such a thing would be, perhaps King Gustav of Sweden or King Christian of Denmark would be willing to be godfather," Thomas Boleyn remarked, a smirk on his lips.

King James of Scots was chosen to Edward's royal godfather with his mother being godmother to her nephew. And having chosen the French King and his sister to be George's royal godparents, it was only right to chose a different European monarch for the third Tudor prince. As both Sweden and Denmark were interested in the religious reforms, it would be rather fitting to choose one of them which as a bonus would mean they could snub the pompous Spaniard altogether.

"King Christian does have a daughter around the Duke of York's age, Your Majesty," Cromwell agreed. Although he thought an Imperial alliance would benefit England greatly, he concurred with the Duke of Wiltshire that making ties with kings who believed in the true faith was prudent.

King Henry nodded, barely interested in such things, although it did make him feel slightly less uneasy to know that the ambassador who would stand in as proxy for his royal master would not be the one who clearly resented Anne and their children even though Katherine and Mary had long accepted their places.

Speaking of his daughter, it felt as though it had been months since he had seen her as she kept mostly to Auckland Castle with her mother, only coming to court when he summoned her.

Mary was nearly eighteen and Henry had to admit that he had yet to start looking for a husband for him despite returning her to the title of princess last year. He made a promise to himself that the next time he had a meeting with his privy council that he would instruct Audley and Cromwell to start searching for a suitable bridegroom for his precious pearl.

But for now, Henry eagerly awaited the birth of his and Anne's fourth child. Boy or girl, they would be celebrated. With the Duchess of Suffolk's death still lingering in his mind, he couldn't help but smile at the thought of his sons having a little sister to adore just as much as he had loved his little sister.

Henry had left the council and returned to his chambers where he played a game of chess with George. They had started their fifth game when Lady Madge Shelton ran in but before she could open her mouth, the King was already on his feet and he had run past her, racing towards his wife's rooms.

He could hear the baby crying and he marveled at how strong their lungs were. Moments later, the crying stopped and when Henry entered the bedchambers, he found his wife cooing over the newborn in her arms.

"I take it that he stopped crying the instant you held him," Henry jested, kissing the top of Anne's head before planting a kiss on the baby's soft forehead.

"She," Anne corrected, looking up rather warily, wondering if her husband meant what he said all those months ago.

"Ah, so not a Henry but an Elizabeth," Henry said, still smiling as he recalled the conversation they had when Princess Annette was born. He had wanted to prove a point by naming his daughter after his wife least people assumed the worst of him (which they had) but Anne's suggestion of naming their daughter after their mothers had been a wonderful idea that he was more than happy to use. "Princess Elizabeth. For your mother and mine."

"Our Princess Elizabeth."

Henry would always love his daughters and how could he not adore his pearl and his sapphire. However both Mary and Annette's birth were surrounded by doubt that the Tudor line would end early. Thanks to her two older brothers, Elizabeth's birth had no such fears surrounding her.

The Emperor and his minions could cry bastards all they like but they could not make it true. For the Tudor line was secure and his children were safe from those who would try to displace them.

* * *

Hours later, while Queen Anne rested and King Henry celebrated with the rest of court, the Tudor children stood around the cradle peering down at their newest sister.

"She's adorable," Annette said sweetly, feeling a rush of affection for her new little sister. "I hope I will be as good of a big sister as you are, Mary."

Mary couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt at the younger girl's words as she recalled how she reacted when Annette was first born. Bad enough that she had been hoping that her father would send her little shadow away but it wasn't until much later did she feel sisterly devotion towards Annette.

"Of course you will," Mary murmured, stroking Annette's hair as the girl beamed at her.

"Lisbet," Ned lisped.

"Elizabeth," George corrected his brother.

"Why don't we just call her Bess like we call you Georgie," Fitz suggested, thinking now was a good time as any to pick a nickname for their little sister.

"Well for one thing, people might mix her up with your mother," Mary pointed out, giggling as she realized that he had not even made the connection as evidenced by his reddening cheeks.

"All right, what nickname do you suggest?" Fitz asked, wondering if Queen Anne, who treated him with nothing but warmth, would find him giving her daughter her husband's former mistress' nickname either amusing or offensive.

"I think Lisbet is rather cute especially when it could be name only we call her," Mary suggested. "Like how only I call Annette Annie."

"Lisbet! Lisbet!" Ned exclaimed either in agreement or because he was determined to remind everything that he came up with the name first.

Unfortunately, he was loud enough to wake Elizabeth who started crying loudly. Before Fitz could run to get the baby's wet nurse, Mary scooped her up, sat down on a rocking chair and began to sing the Spanish lullaby her mother had always sung to her and still did whenever she had a nightmare.

Mary remembered how one night- when she and Annette had stayed at Kimbolton Castle-she had found her mother in Annette's nursery, holding the baby and singing that same lullaby.

At first, she had been jealous that her mother would sing that special song that was only meant for her. Then her mother had spotted her in the doorway and beckoned her over, saying that as godmother and big sister, it was Mary's duty to comfort her young siblings so they should sing together.

It was a wonderful moment and Mary vowed to make her mother proud by doing just that. And with Elizabeth falling asleep in her arms along with the serene looks of George, Annette and Edward, Mary felt that she had done just that.

"Mary, will you teach me that song?" Annette asked after her sister had laid Elizabeth back into her crib.

"Of course I will."

"I think perhaps we should get Ned to bed first," Fitz suggested, picking up the two-year-old whose eyes were in fact getting droopy.

"Goodbye, sweet sister," Mary whispered, kissing the top of Elizabeth's head before taking George and Annette's hands in hers as they went to find their governesses.


	11. Boiling Point

**_October 19 1534_**

**_Rome_**

Pope Paul III, formally Cardinal Alessandro Farnese, had not been pope for a week and already he was expected to undo the folly of his predecessor. After all that was why the Holy Roman Emperor had endorsed him as pope in the first place, looking past his mistresses and bastards to champion him as a pious man of God.

But surely Emperor Charles was not a fool. Surely he could see that what Pope Clement had done could never be undone- at least not without terrible consequences. King Henry had sought an annulment because he wished to have sons and now that he had two healthy boys, who continued to thrive, there wasn't a force on Earth which could convince the red-haired king that his two princes were bastards.

There were whispers that already England was falling into heresy, English bibles and closing down monasteries albeit ones that were clearly corrupt. And yet, King Henry continued to be cordial to Rome, making sure to send reports of why the monasteries were being closed down and sending the actual holy relics to the religious houses that had gotten nothing but good reports instead of selling them like he would sell the church land.

How would he react if Pope Paul chose to annul his marriage to Lady Anne Boleyn? Would he retaliate by cutting all ties to Rome, destroying all traces of the Catholic Church in his country, forcing his people to turn Lutheran?

With heresy spreading like a disease throughout Europe, Paul was reluctant to give the Boleyns, Cranmer and Cromwell, who were known Lutherans, the power to destroy King Henry's trust in the Bishop of Rome, allowing the Protestant German Princes to add another ally in there heretical league. Men like Bishop Fisher had already angered the English monarch and he, along with the rest of Europe, knew full well that Emperor was sponsoring a Pope in hopes to undo Clement's decision. Now was not the time to give him a reason to leave the flock of Rome.

And there were also the political ramifications to consider. Although, there were certainly plenty of good Catholics and even heretics who condemned Clement's decision to annul the King of England's marriage especially when it was rather obvious that he had only done so because of his anger towards the Emperor, to have the Catholic Church change their mind again about the validity of the union between King Henry and Katherine of Aragon would make them look as weak and corrupt as Martin Luther claimed.

God have mercy on his soul. Pope Paul was stuck between a rock and a hard place indeed. If he chose to declare that Pope Clement was wrong to invalidate Pope Julius's deposition allowing King Henry to marry his late brother's widow, he would be seen as the Holy Roman Emperor's stooge, only making such a decision to please his benefactor and not because it was God's will.

It would be easier to ignore Emperor Charles' wishes, allowing the peace to remain or even better declaring that God had shown favor towards the King's new marriage and therefore his predecessor's papal bull was just. After all, as God's representative on Earth, he had no need for the powerful Spaniard's backing now that he had been elected as the Bishop of Rome.

However that would not go over well as many people would claim he was a coward or subservient to England as he was unwilling to overturn a judgment everyone knew was made out of anger.

There was only one way to fix this matter that while would still cause some anger it would at least seem a lot fairer and make him look neutral. Then when a decision was made-and hopefully it would take a few years- it was less likely that he would be condemned for it.

God willing this could end peacefully and all of Europe could go back destroying the stink of heresy. Or perhaps Pope Paul could find a peaceful outcome for the Lutherans as well.

But that was a different discussion for a different time. For now the newly named Pope Paul had to try and clean up Clement's mess while trying to keep it from becoming even messier.

* * *

**_November 1 1534_**

**_England_**

Prince Georgie of Wales was turned six-years-old today and he was woken up by his siblings leaping onto his bed.

"Georgie, Georgie!" One-year-old Elizabeth cried as she crawled on top of him. Annette was keeping her balanced as three-year-old Edward continued on bouncing on the bed, not caring that his brother and sisters were being jostled in the process.

"All right, all right, I'm up," Georgie groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He started to move off the bed, accidentally knocking Edward off the bed, causing him to hit the floor with a loud thump. "Ned, are you okay? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."

Edward didn't more, scaring George even more but when the older prince leaned down to check on his brother, the younger boy punched his shoulder, grinning playfully.

"Gotcha," he laughed.

"I was actually worried about you, you knave!" Georgie scolded him, shoving him gently.

Annette rolled her eyes as her brothers started play-wrestling. "Boys," she muttered, as she and Elizabeth stayed on George's bed.

"What is going on in here?" Lady Bryan demanded as she and the other governesses came into the children's nursery. "Stop that both of you. This is not how princes are supposed to behave."

"They are just children," Katherine Champernowne pointed out before smiling at her charge who was wiggling in Annette's arms. "There you are, Your Highness, here I was thinking you had escaped your cradle again."

"I'm sorry, Kat," Annette apologized as she got off the bed and handed the toddler back to her governess. "Ned woke up early and he wanted to wake up Georgie and I didn't want to leave Lisbeth out."

"It could be worse. Prince Edward could have gone to wake up his parents first," Lady Herbert remarked, giggling at the thought of the rambunctious prince giving the servants a fright if they spotted him wondering around the corridors of Richmond Palace, looking for his mother's apartments.

Lady Bryan's gave her fellow governess a scandalized look, clearly not finding the idea of Edward escaping the nursery funny. She could imagine the King's furious reaction if he learned that she had lost track of one of his precious sons even though she had no way of knowing that Edward was awake early and that he would be so bold to slip out of the nursery without anyone seeing him.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't have let him leave the nursery," Annette assured the horrified woman, taking her duty of oldest sister very seriously.

Edward on the other hand scowled, annoyed that Annette thought she could command him but one warning look from his brother caused him to keep his silence.

"Regardless, next time one of you wakes up, I would prefer you all stayed in your rooms. Furthermore waking up Princess Elizabeth early will only make her more cranky during the day," Lady Bryan scolded both Edward and Annette.

"We're sorry," the two children chorused.

"Well now that you're up. We should start getting ready for such an important day," Lady Bryan decided, giving a rare smile to her special charge.

* * *

"Mistress Parr is getting married so I think it would be best if Lady Bryan took over as Edward's governess," Henry informed her as that way would allow her to continue to run their children's household despite George coming of the age where he was taken care of by his tutors.

"He won't be happy about that," Anne remarked as she ate her buttered eggs. Edward did not like change and he often threw a fit when they had to leave their parents' side to return to Hatfield. Hopefully, he would mellow out when he got older. "The fact that Mistress Parr spoils him rotten certainly doesn't help."

"All the more reason to have Lady Bryan take over," Henry said smirking as he dug into his game pie. Lady Bryan was a strict woman who despite treating the royal children with respect, would not let them get away with bad behavior despite them outranking her. "Do you have a list of companions for George and Annette?"

Although it was agreed that Annette and Georgie would continue to live in the same household until George turned ten and went off to Wales, they still decided to pick a few children around their age to become their companions now.

"Well if George can part with his daughters, I'm sure Annette would love to have them. The boys I'm considering for Georgie are Edward Courtney, George Talbot, Henry Manners or Thomas Percy," Anne recalled from memory.

"Thomas Percy? After his grandfather said that my wife wasn't good enough to be a countess, I think not," Henry declared in a dramatic voice. "What about Elizabeth Tailboys? Her brothers are Hal's household and I'm sure that Annette would be glad to have a companion who is not related to her."

The fact that she was the daughter of his old mistress didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. Years ago, Anne might have felt jealous that he was willing to honor his old lover's daughter-especially when her old love's nephew had just been rejected-but she could guess that it was more likely that Hal had come up with this idea in hopes of honoring his half-sister.

"Well that would be six altogether not including our own children. Hatfield might be getting too small. Perhaps we should consider moving them to Eltham instead," Anne suggested innocently.

Eltham was at least in London which meant they could make more frequent visits to their children. Not to mention Henry had decided to renovate the old palace sometime ago which meant in a few months it should be ready for royal use.

Henry grinned at her, guessing that her motives for picking Eltham. He actually saw no reason to disagree. Eltham was where he had spent most of his childhood so why not send his children there.

"That is a splendid idea, Anne. I shall speak to John Shelton about it and see too it that the children's things are moved to Eltham the moment it's ready," Henry told her before beaming at her. "It seems that our children's household continues to grow. Tis a truly wonderful thing."

Their conversation turned to discussion of today's festivities with Henry deciding that it would be a tennis match held in their son's honor as they could not joust as it was quite slippery and dreary outside.

They were interrupted by a page coming in with a message from Cromwell, requesting an audience.

"He says it's urgent, Your Majesty," the page explained when the King snapped that he was busy right now.

"I'm sure I won't be long, my love," Henry murmured as he kissed his wife before he departed.

Anne wondered what was so important that Cromwell would be so instant on disturbing the king despite knowing that he breaking his fast with his wife. Knowing Cromwell, he wouldn't do such a thing unless it really was urgent but that just made the queen more curious and a little worried as she was certain it would not be good news.

* * *

_"When I read the papal bull, my first thought was: has the Pope gone mad?" Wolsey had told Cromwell right before he had ridden off to the Palace of Placentia to tell King Henry the news that he had gotten the annulment he was seeking. _

As Cromwell read the new report from Rome, the same thought entered his mind. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was indeed a shrewd move that might have worked if not for the fact that King Henry loved his wife and would never think that any sort of compromise was worth hurting her. Even if he didn't love Queen Anne, the idea of going back to barren woman when his wife was perfectly capable of having more children was ludicrous.

Of course, unlike Wolsey, Cromwell was not a papist and therefore he had no problem with the Pope shooting himself in the foot. However, it still presented a conundrum for which there was no easy solution.

When King Henry summoned him to his audience chamber, the grey-haired secretary was filled with apprehension, fearing that the monarch might take out any anger he might feel on him.

"I have news from Rome," Cromwell began hesitantly. "The new Pope Paul has decreed that Pope Clement acted far too hastily and he wishes to investigate the validity of your marriage to the Dowager Princess Katherine."

Henry just stared, his mind racing as he processed the other man's words. As the silence dragged on, Cromwell wondered if it would have been more prudent for him to have waited until after Prince George's birthday to tell him this news. But then again, he had no doubt that the ambassadors were getting letters from Rome about this matter and it would be much worse for everyone if the King learned it from them.

"He wishes to investigate whether or not the barren widow of my brother, a woman who birthed only one living babe in the decade of our union is my true wife instead of my actual wife who in the past eight years of our marriage has given birth to four healthy children with no miscarriages or dead babies in-between," Henry summarized slowly, before breaking out into boisterous laughter which only made Cromwell fear very much for his master's sanity and his own head. "Surely he jests; although I cannot see the humor in it."

"I'm afraid not, Your Majesty, although he does assure you that if he finds that your marriage with the Dowager Princess is lawful, your children by Queen Anne much like the Princess Mary will be declared born from a union of good faith and therefore they are very much legitimate," Cromwell explained, trying not to wince when he saw outrage flicker across the red-haired monarch's face.

"He expects me to open up an investigation, stirring up bad feelings towards my beloved wife and queen, creating doubt, just because he is _gracious _enough not to declare my young children bastards," Henry snarled, ignoring the voice inside his head which reminded him that Mary was not much older than Annette when he had asked Wolsey to obtain an annulment from her mother for him. "I will not play his games. Even if Pope Clement acted too hastily, God has proven who He favors and not even His Holiness can ignore God's will."

"An excellent point. I must admit it distresses me that _His Holiness_ would try to destroy the peaceful existence we have had for the past eight years," Cromwell remarked, wrinkling his nose disdainfully. Peace was an exaggeration and both men knew it. The Mad Nun of Kent, Fisher and the sweat had made at least the first four years rather nerve-racking. "It is entirely possible that this trial is a mere formality and he has already made a decision."

"Of course he has! Everyone knows that Spanish knave has been funding him for only one reason," Henry snarled. Even though Mary was a princess again, the Emperor was not satisfied, obviously eager to make England one of his provinces through a marriage between his son and Mary which could only happen if Mary was his only heir. Henry snorted as he realized something. "I wonder how the Emperor reacted when he heard of the Pope's suggestion of compromise."

"I doubt he will be happy about it when he hears about it," Cromwell agreed, smiling warily before sobering. "Your Majesty know how I feel about the Pope and I am loath to have such a trial no matter which verdict he chooses. But I would be remiss in my duties if I did not point out that the fact that he is willing to choose a middle road instead of outright pleasing his benefactor might mean that he might actually find in your favor instead of the Dowager Princess so perhaps outright refusal to cooperate is not the best option."

"Oh and why do you think that?" King Henry asked, an eyebrow raised. He was not as blind as many people thought he was. He was well aware of his secretary's zeal for religious reform. The fact that the older man was willing to play nice with the very institution he loathed was astonishing but then again, he always was a pragmatic man even more so than Wolsey.

"The Emperor knows that Pope Clement's decision came out of spite rather than him seeing the justice of your cause but he is Catholic through and through. He has refused to ally with us because he believes that Pope Paul will undo the verdict, if the papal court finds in our favor, he will be more open to having cordial relations with us, perhaps even seeking Edward as a husband for his daughter or one of his nieces," Cromwell explained. "Not to mention, Elizabeth could be the next Holy Roman Empress."

Although it galled him to have to once again rely on the Catholic Church to end a sham of a marriage, being in debt to charlatan who pretended to be a descendant of Saint Peter, something that would not go over well with his fellow followers of Martin Luther, he felt that it was imperative that England had an imperial alliance so they could tap into the riches of that vast empire.

"I am not going to humiliate my wife just for the slim chance that Spanish bastard might swallow his pride and offer a bride for Ned or a crown prince for Elizabeth," Henry informed him coldly, already picturing Anne's fury if she was forced to act as though she was not queen but merely his mistress even if she was the mother of his legitimate children.

Of course he would never allow anyone to say that Anne wasn't his true wife even if he agreed to this farce let alone if the Pope rendered a verdict in Katherine's favor. Still, it was not something he was prepared to allow. After all, if his marriage with Katherine was valid than Anne, who made it clear she was to be no man's mistress, was unknowingly living in sin for eight years. "Anne is my wife and queen. I don't care if this is just a formality. It is unnecessary and will do nothing cause pain to the Dowager Princess and her daughter, not to mention it would confuse my subjects. If Pope Paul is a true man of God, he should have no doubt that my second marriage is true and valid!" King Henry declared, a note finality in his voice. "Now if you excuse me, I will not mar my son's special day by talking about this nonsense any longer."

With that, he turned his back on Cromwell, making it clear that as far as he was concerned, this meeting was over.

* * *

"Your Highness, Prince George, your fiancée wishes to express her best wishes to you on this happy day," Jean du Bellay told him, bowing before snapping his fingers so his servant could present a jeweled bow to the boy sitting on a throne between his parents. "She hopes you will like her gift."

Georgie smiled, remembering how he had described admiring a jeweled bow displayed in his father's rooms in a letter he had written to his future wife, months ago. It touched him that she had not only remembered that but she had also clearly picked out the gift herself instead of leaving it to whoever normally picked out a gift to send to the English monarchs and their children for these celebrations.

"Tell her I think her greatly both for her sentiments and her wonderful gift," Prince Georgie complimented gratefully.

Bellay also presented the gifts from King Francis and his sister, Queen Marguerite of Naverre before stepping back to let the other ambassadors present the six-year-old with birthday presents from their masters.

Ambassador Eustace Chapuys came up next and Georgie wondered if he imagined a flash of disgust on the older man's face just as he bowed. From next to him, King Henry stiffened and scowled at the ambassador of the knave who continued to meddle in his affairs.

"Your Highness, my master, the Holy Roman Emperor also sends his warmest congratulations on this blessed day," Chapuys spoke eloquently and politely, keeping his true feelings masked. The Emperor's present is expensive and grand for while he viewed the Prince of Wales's mother as an unworthy usurper of his aunt's position, he was unwilling to insult the King of England by snubbing his son.

"It is exquisite. Your master has good taste, Your Excellency," Henry remarked before Georgie could speak. "My wife, Queen Anne and I are pleased that His Majesty is so generous to our precious heir."

His words were outwardly polite but Chapuys could hear the hidden message loud and clear: that nothing the Emperor did would convince him to give up his concubine and go back to Queen Katherine.

* * *

There was a dark cloud hanging over her husband's head. He tried to conceal it, smiling happily at the festivities held in honor of their special boy but she was sure that everyone besides the children (thank God) had sensed that the red-haired monarch was in a foul mood.

With Cromwell determinedly avoiding her eyes, Anne knew that her early bad feeling was correct and she could guess what the news was: the new Pope had declared that union between Katherine and Henry was valid and therefore Anne's sons and daughters were bastards.

But then again weren't they expecting that? Weren't they prepared to use Archbishop Cranmer's Plan B if Pope Paul chose to make such a declaration? So why was Henry upset? Of course the fact that a so-called man of God declaring her a whore and her children bastards not to mention ordering Henry to return to Katherine after so many years of being with a woman who he loved was understandably outrageous but still, Anne could sense it was a little more to that.

Finally Henry decided to retire early and Anne went with him. After a session of lovemaking and a few moments of simply lying in his arms, Anne finally asked him what was upsetting him.

"I didn't want to tell you today-on our son's birthday," Henry apologized, not wanting her to think he was deliberately keeping something from her. "Cromwell received a letter from Rome. Pope Paul wishes to investigate the validity of my cursed union with my brother's widow." He let out a scoff, making it clear what he though of that. "The nerve of that man. I was proven right and just because the Emperor got him elected, he believes that he has a right to ignore God's will and force me to back into a marriage of lies simply because he is willing to compromise."

"What did he mean by compromise?" Anne asked curiously, wondering what sort of compromise Pope Paul thought Henry would be willing to take in exchange for returning to Katherine.

"Our children were born from a marriage in good faith so even if the court were in find in favor of Katherine, they would retain their titles of princes and princesses," Henry informed her.

"So our children would remain legitimate even if I am not your true wife," Anne guessed, sitting up as her thoughts raced.

Years ago, the very idea of letting Katherine be Henry's wife again would have enraged her. She was a jealous woman and the thought of any other woman but her being in Henry's bed, made her sick. Of course having to give back the Queen's crown to the older woman would be humiliating.

However, back then she had not really understood what the support of the Pope meant. King Francis did have a soft spot for her but as a Catholic King, he might have not been so willing to marry his son and his daughter to Anne's children when they were deemed illegitimate in the eyes of the Catholic Church.

Not to mention while there had been some who disliked her, the English people, nobles and commons had accepted the King's new marriage because the Pope had given his blessing.

As much as it galled Anne, she couldn't help but wonder if it would be easier if they let this happen, making sure that her children's legitimacy was secured and they could never be labeled as bastards.

"It doesn't matter, Anne, I refuse to even consider it. You are my wife and no one can say otherwise," Henry assured her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back down against him, kissing her hair.

Anne smiled as she cuddled up to him, closing her eyes. Henry was right, it didn't matter what anyone else thought. She was the Queen of England and her children were legitimate. She just hoped that those who were willfully blind to the truth would see it in time.

* * *

**_November 26 1534 _**

"Oh my darling Elizabeth, Mama's going to miss you so much, sweetheart," Anne cooed as stroked the golden-red hair of her youngest daughter.

"Mama, Mama!" Elizabeth babbled, giggling as her mother spun her around.

"Are you going to miss us too?" Annette asked her mother, slightly put out by the attention being showered on Princess Elizabeth. Although, she adored her baby sister, it often felt as though her parents doted on Beth more than they did with her.

Anne gave the one-year-old another kiss before handing her to her governess and turning towards her oldest daughter, crouching down and embracing her.

"Of course I will, my dear heart," the auburn-haired queen murmured as stroked her hair.

To Annette's displeasure, her brothers soon joined the hug as their father decided to say goodbye to Elizabeth.

"My sweet ruby, you be a good girl now," Henry said, smiling fondly as he pinched her cheeks and kissed her forehead. "I'm sure my sapphire will show you how after she has given her papa a hug."

Annette giggled before wiggling out of the group hug and running into her father's arms.

"Why can't we stay through Christmastide?" Edward complained, clutching his mother's gown even when she let him and George go.

"Because we're moving court in a few days and it will be quite the hassle," Anne told him. "I think you'll have lots more fun in the country."

If it were up to her, the four of them would stay at court with her through Christmastide and then Anette's birthday and then Mary's birthday and then Edward's birthday and so on, never allowing them to return to their own castle.

But it couldn't be like that and Anne knew she had to get used to it eventually. Furthermore if Rome and the Emperor chose to take Henry's refusal to allow them to revisit his Great Matter badly, it would be better if her children were far away from the gossip and unease that was sure to follow.

"Don't fret, my boy, I promise that in a few weeks your mother will be able to visit you," Henry assured them.

"What about you, Father? Why won't you visit us?" Georgie asked, before kicking himself inwardly for such a selfish question. Obviously their father was busy with state affairs. They could see him when they returned to court for the Christmas celebrations even if that was almost a month away.

"I would like it but I cannot make any promises," Henry answered apologetically as he set Annette down, keeping his hand on her shoulder. "However, I'm sure that when your mother comes to see you, she will give all four of you a hug from me."

"Of course I will," Anne agreed, taking Edward's chin in her hand and turning him to face her. "When I get there, I hope Lady Bryan will tell me what a good boy you have been."

"Yes Mama," Edward said sourly. He smiled when his mother kissed his cheeks and promised to bring him sweets when she visited Hatfield.

"I believe it's time for you to get going. Shall we walk down to the carriages together?" Henry suggested, taking Elizabeth from her governess and using his free hand to hold Anette's hand.

He waited until Anne held Georgie and Edward's hands before starting to walk out of the Queen's apartments and down to the courtyard where the crowds of people were waiting for a glimpse of the royal family.

* * *

**_December 13 1534 _**

Sir William Brereton felt happier than he had in months.

He had been horrified when he learned that Pope Paul, instead of dissolving the sham of a marriage King Henry was currently in, he had instead decided to investigate the union between the King of England and his true wife even saying the evil spawn birthed by the Boleyn whore were born in good faith and therefore as legitimate as the Princess Mary.

In a way he was glad that the Boleyn bitch-who clearly was too prideful and vain to give up her stolen title even if her brats remained legitimate- had made sure that King Henry outright refused to even consider allowing any sort of investigation into his union with his true wife and queen, perhaps knowing that the judges would declare in favor of Queen Katherine, forcing him to banish Lady Anne.

Eustace Chapuys believed that with Anne Boleyn dead, Queen Katherine would be a good influence on King Henry's children, making sure that they were free from their mother's taint.

However, Brereton was certain that the whore had used the same dark arts she used to bewitch so many people to create her brats and he felt that they had to be killed just like their mother. If the witch died, her bastard would no doubt continue leading England down the dark path of heresy.

All five of them needed to die and Brereton just needed the chance to kill them all. To his happiness, he got his chance one day when he was able to accompany the Concubine as she visited her brats.

The Prince of Wales had gotten sick with a cold and Queen Anne had wanted to spend a night or two with her children, just in case the illness was something worse. King Henry had sent Brereton with her, ordering him to come to ride with haste to court so the king could be told immediately if George's condition worsened.

The groomsman was thrilled when he received that task although for a different reason than the King trusting him. God had given Brereton a chance to kill all five people who were standing in the way of good Queen Katherine and Princess Mary.

When night fell over the small country manor, Brereton went to the nursery first, he had bribed a servant to bring the guards a flasket of drugged wine and he was pleased to see they were both knocked out as he slipped by them.

He grabbed a torch and set the curtains before doing the same to the banners. Then he hurried outside, shutting and barricading the door with the bodies of the two unconscious guards, that way if the brats tried to flee before the fire engulphed the chambers that made up the nursery, they would be unable to open the door.

It was quite late and there were no servants bustling around, allowing Brereton to arrive at the Queen's quarters without any delay. He told the sentries sent to protect the Queen that he found the two guards outside the nursery drunk and unconscious.

If Brereton had needed any sign that God was on his side, he felt he had gotten it when the two guards not only believed him, they went to deal with their colleagues themselves, requesting that Brereton, the King's trusted groomsman, stand fill in for them while they were gone.

As soon as they left, Brereton slipped into the Queen's chambers, taking care to shut and lock the outer door behind him before he took off his crucifix, deciding it be symbolic if he strangled the whore with the crucifix's chain. He had hoped she was still sleeping but she must have heard him come in because she sat up when she entered, confused about why a male, even if he was her husband's groom, was in her room.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked, pulling to covers upwards, feeling uncomfortable. "This is most unseemly, sir. You should not be in my bedchambers. Leave now and I will not punish you!"

Brereton's lips curled up in disgust as he continued to walk towards her. "The only punishment I seek is yours. It's time to die like your children, you vile whore!"

Anne was now searching the room for a weapon when his last sentence penetrated her mind and her heart dropped like a stone in her chest.

"What have you done to my children?" she demanded, getting off the bed and trying to run past him.

Brereton, however, was quicker and he slapped her hard enough to make her fall onto the ground. He then wrapped the chain around her neck and began squeezing.

"They are burning, a fate I wanted you to share with them but alas it was not to be. At least you shall burn in Hell!" Brereton growled, not even caring that Anne was struggling and clawing at him as he tightened her grip on her neck.

She tried to scream but she could barely make any sounds as it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

"I don't care if they catch me once you and your brats are dead. I will die a martyr's death and the Pope will make me a saint for saving England from you!" Brereton declared.

And then somewhere in his manic mind, he registered the sound of a sneeze. Letting go of the chain he spun around to see two boys in nightshirts standing frozen in the doorway, both staring at him with wide and fearful eyes.

Anne could barely breathe but she would not waste the moment of reprieve the madman had unwilling gave her especially when he seemed distracted by the sight of her sons who he had assumed were in the nursery burning.

As she grabbed the water pitcher that always was by her bedside, she prayed that her daughters were safe and she prayed that she would stay conscious long enough to protect her sons. Then she threw it at the murderous groom's head just as blackness overtook her vision.


	12. God's Grace

**_December 13 1534_**

When asked about it later, Princess Annette would say that it was Princess Elizabeth who had truly been instrumental in ensuring that the two girls escaped the nursery unharmed. The older princess had woken up when she heard the faint sound of her sister crying in the adjacent chamber. Immediately alert, Annette got out of bed and hurried to her sister's crib, trying to remember the lullaby Mary had taught her. But as soon as she exited her bedchamber, the strong scent of smoke hit her nose. She could also hear faint shouting coming from outside the children's nursery and the princess suddenly became afraid that something was terribly wrong.

Annette scooped her baby sister up into her arms, her heart beating wildly. She screamed her brothers' names, growing worried when they didn't answer. However when she was about to go looking for them, the air got thicker and she began to cough. Knowing that she had to get herself and Elizabeth out of the nursery, Annette reluctantly went to the secret passageway Edward was so fond of using to sneak out of the nursery; of all the nights for Edward to sneak out, Annette prayed that he had chosen tonight and Georgie had gone with him.

"Hush Elizabeth, we're almost safe," Annette whispered, trying soothe her baby sister as she carried her away from the nursery. The one-year-old was quite heavy in her arms and Annette had to walk slowly so she would not drop her.

The shouting was getting louder and Annette heard something like a crash before there was even more shouting. Unsure where else she could go, the princess made her way towards the shouting, hoping that if her brothers were still in the nursery, they could be saved.

She had barely taken a few steps when Lady Herbert and Mistress Champernowne came rounding the corner along with two guards.

"Oh God be praised, the princesses are all right!" Kat Champernowne declared, taking Elizabeth into her own arms and holding her close.

Lady Herbert was no less affectionate with her charge, hugging Annette tightly, sobbing even louder than Annette herself.

"Are Georgie and Ned safe?" the six-year-old princess asked, her voice slightly muffled by the fabric of her governess' dress.

"They are fine, love, don't you worry," Blanche assured her. "In fact we will take you to them now."

"Want Mama!" Elizabeth shouted, causing Blanche and Kat to stare at the youngest princess in shock before exchanging a meaningful look.

Upon seeing the two women's uneasy body language, Annette suddenly felt a shiver of fear go down her spine.

"What is it? What happened to Mama?" Annette interrogated them.

"She's okay, Your Highness, she's fine," Lady Hebert replied, trying to keep the apprehension out of her voice.

"But something happened to her. Tell me what happened to her!" Annette demanded, not at all mollified by her governess' attempt to soothe her.

"Let's get you to your brothers who are very worried about you," Kat told her, hoping that the mention of the two princes would be enough to get the princess to leave the subject untouched for now.

"And then all four of you can go see your mother together," Blanche added before Annette could protest.

* * *

_"Georgie, are you awake?" Ned asked as he walked up to his brother's bed. _

_The Prince of Wales gave his brother a rather annoyed look before turning to blow his nose into his blanket. _

_"Thanks to this cold, I've been too busy sneezing to sleep," he grumbled. _

_"Oh? Does that mean you are too tired to sneak down to the pantry?" Edward inquired with a naughty grin. _

_It was on the tip of George's tongue to tell his brother to go back to bed and not try something that could get him into trouble. But he had barely eaten his supper and his stomach growled at the thought of some scrumptious pastries. _

_Reluctantly, he followed his brother out of the nursery, making sure to walk quietly so not to disturb Elizabeth and Annette. _

_Unfortunately as it turned out while Edward knew how to get out of the nursery very well, it was a little harder for him to find the kitchen let alone the pantry. Not to mention neither of the boys had actually been to the kitchen and they only had a vague idea of where it was. _

_George sneezed as the two boys continued walking in the dimly lit corridors. He felt as though they had been walking for hours and the robe over his nightshirt was not doing enough to keep him warm. _

_"Didn't we pass that tapestry already?" Georgie remarked as he squinted the tapestry that was only visible by the moonlight shining through the window. "Ned, I think we are going around in circles." _

_"Just give me a minute, I know where we're going," Edward assured him, his eyes darted around the corridor, trying to figure out where exactly they were. The halls of Hatfield looked so different at night but he couldn't tell Georgie that because he knew that if he admitted that he had gotten them lost, his older brother would never let him live it down. _

_"Come on, Ned, I think Mama's apartments are just around the corner," Georgie informed his brother, remembering having seen this tapestry when he had left his lessons to visit their mother before going to take a nap. _

_Feeling rather uneasy wandering the corridors at night, Edward did not argue as he followed his brother. He hoped that their mother would not be too angry with them even though they had snuck out in the middle of the night. _

_They were surprised to find that her outer door was locked but they knew that one of the parlors connected to their mother's bedchamber. It didn't occur to George that something was wrong until they walked upon a horrific scene. _

_A man was standing over their mother, clearly causing her pain. Both boys stood there frozen in fear, wondering if what they were seeing was even real or some sort of nightmare. _

_Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, before Georgie could grab Edward's arm and pull him away so they could find help, he sneezed, alerting the madman to their presence. _

_Georgie would never forget the wild look in the man's eyes when he spun around to face the two boys, freeing Queen Anne from his assault. The Prince knew that this man was his father' groom, Sir Brereton but the murderous and manic expression on his face made him almost unrecognizable. _

_Suddenly something hit Brereton with a sickening crack and he toppled over, liquid spilling on the floor. This brought the boys out of their stupor and Edward raced to their mother's side just as she fell unconscious. _

_"Mama! Mama! Mama!" Edward shouted over and over again, shaking her. _

_As Georgie walked slowly towards his mother and brother, he kept an eye on Brereton's body, fearing that he might get up and try to harm them. He spotted something shiny in the groom's hand, it looked like a cross like the one Mary would wear. Had this man tried to kill his mother with a crucifix? _

_Georgie barely had time to process what he was seeing as Edward's screams for their mother to wake up had alerted Anne's ladies who were now running into the Queen's bedchamber, trying to make sense of what was going on. _

_A few guards also rushed in. _

_"Thank God, the princes are here!" one of them exclaimed. _

_"They just witnessed their mother being attacked! How is that a good thing!" Nan Seville demanded incredulously. _

_"Never mind that, let's get them out of here," Madge said firmly, for once she was able to keep a level head as she knew that getting two traumatized children to safety was more important. _

_"No, I'm not leaving Mama!" Edward shouted when Madge tried to tear him away from his mother's body. _

_"We need to move her back to her bed so the physician can help her," Madge told him softly, knowing that forcing Edward would only serve to make him more difficult to reason with. _

_Unlike Edward, Georgie remained quiet as her mother's ladies led him to a different room. He was too busy trying to understand why this had happened to even start worrying about his mother. _

_Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the madman staring back and he knew that he had seen the face of evil. _

* * *

Georgie and Edward had been changed out of their soiled garments and placed in a room with a roaring fire and with two blankets for each of them.

When Annette and Elizabeth were brought in, Edward jumped up immediately, shaking off his blanket and rushing to hug his older sister. He tearfully told her what happened and how sorry he was that he hadn't listened to her when she told him not to use that secret passageway to sneak out.

"Oh Neddie, never have I ever been so glad that you didn't listen to me," Annette cried, hugging her brother tightly. "There was a fire in the nursery. I called for you but when you didn't come, I was too scared to look for you."

"A fire? Did the bad man set it?" Edward wondered.

Georgie sneezed and shivered, pulling the blankets closer around him. Annette and Edward went over to their brother and snuggled together with the blankets wrapped around all three of them.

"It doesn't matter. He failed," Annette whispered soothingly, not liking the haunted look on Georgie's face. "We're okay. Everything is going to be okay."

"What did Mama ever do to him? What did we do to make him hate us like that?" Georgie wondered, still staring incomprehensibly at the fire.

"Nothing," Kat spoke up from the rocking chair where she had been trying to rock Elizabeth to sleep, her voice was soft with a touch of steel in it. "None of you did anything to deserve such brutality."

"Kat is right. Mama never does anything wrong," Edward said firmly.

"And neither did we," Annette whispered, squeezing her brother's shoulder.

* * *

Meanwhile back at court, King Henry had been roused from his bed when he received an urgent letter from Hatfield. At first he feared that George's cold had turned into something much worse.

He was unprepared for the true horror of what happened to his children and wife. One of his grooms had set fire to the nursery and tried to strangle Anne to death. Henry was outraged that he unknowingly had a madman in his household for years and worse he had played right into that bastard's hands. It was like he had sent a fox loose in a henhouse, allowing the beast to slaughter innocent lives.

It was only by God's grace that his children had escaped the nursery unscathed. Unfortunately Anne was not so lucky, the letter described her being unconscious with her neck having become bruised and while she still breathed, the doctor feared that if she did not wake up, she might go into shock and die.

"Three times," Henry growled. "There have been three attempts on my wife's life. This time I want you to interrogate Brereton until you have the name of every single one of his conspirators. I refuse to let Anne be attacked a fourth time."

"I will depart to the Tower at once," Cromwell assured him, motioning for Rich to stand up so they could go together. Brereton was being transported back to London as they spoke and hopefully he would be at the Tower of London by the time Cromwell arrived.

"Do you think it was Brereton who stabbed my wife in Surrey?" Henry asked, realizing that Brereton had been at court that horrible day but Henry could only remember seeing his groomsman that morning and then again that evening. Brereton could have slipped out unseen and then returned with nobody being wiser to his actions.

"It is a possibility," Cromwell agreed, as his thoughts raced. He had assumed that the men involved with the chaos three years ago had simply known that Queen Anne was in Surrey and they had gotten lucky with the timing of their attack. He could kick himself for not realizing that someone at court could have told them when and where the Queen was going to walk among the common folk. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I had assumed that if they had known there was a member of your household was helping them, they would have mentioned it."

Henry grunted, clearly unsatisfied by Cromwell's response. "Well this time you better do a better job finding out who exactly is involved," he growled, his fists clenched in anger and a dark scowl on his face "We both know who would have been pleased if my wife and children had died leaving his cousin as my heir. In fact, I want you to put Chapuys under house arrest and I want you to search his rooms. Furthermore summon Sir More and Katherine, I want them questioned as well."

Although he knew Katherine and More were too pious to arrange for murder of anyone let alone four innocent children, he still wanted to be assured that they had no indirect knowledge of any plots against Anne.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," his secretary said calmly, bowing. He was relieved that his master had not lost his temper and taken it out on Cromwell even though he clearly felt that his secretary should have figured out if Brereton was involved with the stabbing which would have prevented the horror at Hatfield.

Henry nodded at Cromwell and Rich, allowing them to take their leave. Once they had gone, the red-haired monarch decided to tear his office apart. Throwing everything not nailed down, beating his hands blood on the walls, toppling over the desk and chairs; just letting all the rage inside him out.

He had nearly lost them. Anne, George, Annette, Edward and little Elizabeth could have died. And the worst part is they would have died for nothing. Even if Henry was tempted to go back to Katherine, he would never do so when his suspected the Emperor's hand in his family's death. He would probably have declared war on Katherine's nephew, in hopes of killing that bastard in revenge for his wife and children. Furthermore, he would get remarried and have had his son despite the holes left in his heart.

God help the Emperor if Henry found out that he was behind this.

Eventually the rage bled out of King Henry and he went outside his study, ordering his groomsmen to get the horses ready, he would be going to Hatfield immediately. His family had survived and he refused spend a moment more than he had to away from them.

* * *

When Anne woke up, she couldn't understand why her throat hurt so bad or it seemed she had been moved to a different bedchamber. Then it all came flooding back. Her husband's groom had attacked her and he said her children were being burned. However George and Edward had escaped and the last thing she remembered was Brereton seeing them.

Anne shot up and moved to jump out of the bed but Nan was suddenly beside her bed, forcing her to lie back down.

"It's all right. Everything is all right. That horrid man has been captured, Your Majesty, you are safe now," Nan assured her, trying not to be too rough as she held Anne down. "The princes and princesses are safe as well. But Dr. Butts has insisted you stay in bed, to regain your strength."

"What about the fire?" Anne rasped, surprised that they would still be here when Brereton had tried burning down the castle.

"The fire was contained in the nursery so it is safe to stay here for the time being," Nan explained, certain that they would not be staying more than a day. There was no doubt in her mind that as soon the doctor thought Anne was strong enough to be moved, she and her children would be going to court where the relieved King would be waiting for them.

"Bring me my children," Anne commanded. "I need them here with me."

"Madge is getting them as we speak," Nan replied with a soft smile as she patted Anne's hair before taking a goblet of water and giving it to Anne. "Here, Your Majesty. You need your fluid."

The queen drank it slowly and had barely put it down when the patter of three pairs of feet were heard and three children came running inside, leaping onto their mother's bed and into her arms.

"Oh my babies, thank goodness you are all right," Anne murmured, hugging and kissing her children in turn.

"Mama," Elizabeth cooed as Lady Bryan handed her over.

"Hello my darling girl. I am so happy to see that you and your siblings are unharmed," Anne whispered.

She listened as Annette, Georgie and Edward took turns telling her what had happened and she couldn't help but think it had been a miracle that all of them had escaped what would have been a ghastly death unharmed.

If Anne had any doubts that God favored her children, those doubts had now disappeared completely.

* * *

It was dawn when King Henry arrived at Hatfield. The minute he was off his horse and had entered the castle, he went straight towards his wife's room, waving off the steward of his children's household, Anne's uncle who greeted him and started to assure him that besides the damaged nursery, everyone was alive and well.

When Henry entered Anne's bedchamber, he came upon a sweet scene. Anne was lying in the bed with Elizabeth on top of her. While her arm was wrapped around the toddler, she held Annette's hand and her free arm was tucked behind Georgie and Edward's heads.

Henry wished he could sneak into that family cuddle but unfortunately he could not do so without waking them up. So he contented himself was sitting on the edge of the bed, studying his wife and children, making sure that they had not been harmed by that bastard.

As if she could feel his eyes on her, Anne opened her eyes and for a second, she felt afraid when she registered a male figure sitting on the edge of her bed, only to relax when she saw it was Henry.

"My love," Anne whispered, letting go of Annette's hand to reach out so her husband could her hand in his.

"Oh sweetheart, I was so worried," Henry murmured, kissing her fingertips. "I have come to take you all home. I think our children will be staying with us for a long time after this ordeal."

"I'm glad," Anne said softly, managing to smile weakly.

"I always knew you were a living miracle, Anne, but I would never have guessed our children were too," Henry remarked, chuckling despite himself.

He went over to Annette's side, managed to move her just a little bit before climbing in the bed himself, stroking her hair before reaching over to the same to Elizabeth and her brothers.

* * *

**_December 14 1534 _**

Sir William Brereton's vile actions spread through London like wildfire. Many people had been on the streets when the royal family had returned to Hampton Court Palace yesterday afternoon. The Queen had to ride in a litter and those who caught a glimpse of her through the curtain had noted that she looked so pale and fragile unlike the proud beauty they were used to seeing.

The children rode with their father in the royal carriage, none of them even stuck their hands out to wave at the crowds that cheered their arrival. Clearly, they were still shaken up by the events that had occurred.

It was bad enough that someone, the King's own groom no less, had tried to kill an anointed queen but the idea that someone would try killing four innocent children was incomprehensible.

There were rumors that the Holy Roman Emperor was involved, that he was so desperate to make England a province of his vast empire that when King Henry refused to comply with the Pope's decision, he had ordered his ambassador to see to it that Queen Anne, Prince George, Princess Anne, Prince Edward and even toddler Princess Elizabeth be murdered. A rumor that got even juicier at the news that after being put under house arrest the Imperial Ambassador had been arrested.

It was only by the grace of God that the bloodbath at Hatfield was narrowly avoided. But was it the end of such violence or would there be more in the future?

* * *

A search of Brereton's rooms uncovered correspondences between Brereton and members of Fisher's clergy who had organized the attack on Anne's entourage in Surrey. In which he hinted that he had an ally who was a friend of Katherine and her daughter. Although Chapuys was not named, the fact that several witnesses saw them together and of course the fact that the two attacks against Anne came after blows to his master's cause, gave Henry enough evidence to arrest the Spanish Ambassador.

The case against Chapuys was largely circumstantial, as the man was better at covering his tracks than William Brereton was. And unlike Brereton, the Spaniard was unlikely to confess to his crimes.

When Katherine and More arrived at court, Henry decided to talk to them himself rather than letting Cromwell do it, unwilling to let either the mother of his eldest daughter or his old friend come under suspicion of conspiring with Chapuys or Brereton.

Both Katherine and Sir Thomas were truthful about their conversations with Chapuys and in his former wife's case, Henry understood why she had not suspected the Spanish Ambassador was plotting something. After all, there was a difference between fearing for Mary and Katherine's safety- even if it involved accusing Anne and her relatives of murder- and saying something like that made it clear that he would do everything in his power to be rid of Anne Boleyn.

"Why didn't you tell me when the ambassador had made such a statement?" Henry demanded, glaring daggers at his old tutor.

"I didn't think he meant it. I thought he was just frustrated when he said he was afraid you would become a heretic unless we got rid of Queen Anne," Thomas More explained, knowing how lame that answer sounded. However his only other excuse was he feared King Henry would assume that Chapuys had said the same thing to Katherine and they were conspiring against Queen Anne together. He did not know how the red-haired monarch would take that but he wasn't about to find out. "I swear to you, Your Majesty if I had known that Chapuys was visiting Fisher's sermons along with a member of your household, I would have alerted you immediately."

"I don't believe you. You are a smart man, Thomas, you would have had to know that he had ample motive to kill my wife. Surely he told you of his fears that my wife would poison my daughter and sister-in-law," Henry growled, the deadly softness of his voice actually unnerved Thomas more than it would have if the king was yelling. "He had ample reason to want my wife and children dead. The fact that you recalled what he said to you nearly three years ago tells me that this not the first time that you suspected the ambassador's hand in these vile plots against my family."

"Your Majesty, if I had any concrete evidence at all besides my own suspicions, I would have told you at once," Thomas protested.

"And did you have concrete evidence when you accused my wife and her family of poisoning Bishop Fisher?" Henry shouted, picking up a nearby ink bottle and throwing it at More who ducked at the last second. The ink however still splashed him when the bottle smashed against the wall. "I have no doubt that you had even less evidence then and yet you still accused my wife of murder. Why was it different then? Because you considered Chapuys a friend and ally even though he was willing to kill a queen and her four children."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," Thomas murmured, getting down on his knees. In truth, he had never dreamed Chapuys would go this far but he suspected the Boleyns to be lacking morals. Something that now had backfired worse than he had imagined.

"The only reason I shall not have the guards arrest you for obstruction of justice is because I want you to testify against the ambassador. After that, you will return to your home and you will stay there for the rest of your miserable life," Henry decreed, turning his back on the man he once counted as a true friend.

Sir Thomas More shivered as he walked out of the King's audience room, unsure if he had saved himself from his grave or if he had just dug it.

* * *

Unaware of what was happening with the King and More, Katherine sat in her chapel, praying for those two poor misguided souls.

Even if she did believe those ridiculous rumors about Anne being a witch, even if she had truly believed that Anne's death was the only way she and Mary would be safe, she still would never have approved of the murder of four small children, all younger than ten. The very idea made her sick and the worst part was these weren't just any children, they were her own precious daughter's kin. Being Mary's flesh and blood made them Katherine's family as well, no matter the complicated feeling she had for their mother and father.

Speaking of Mary, while Katherine had gone to speak to Henry, she had gone to the nursery so she could comfort her siblings. She didn't return to their shared apartments until about an hour after her mother had finished her prayers and now was sewing to take her mind off of the betrayal of Chapuys.

"You should have seen Georgie, he seemed so troubled by what happened even worse than Ned and Annette. He kept asking me why his mother was been choked by cross," Mary recalled when her mother had asked how her siblings were doing. When her mother's brow furrowed, she elaborated. "William Brereton used his crucifix to try and strangle Anne. I think he knows that there was some sort of symbolism in Brereton using it but he doesn't know why. I can only pray that none of them ever find out that people think Anne is a witch and the mistress of the devil."

"Good God, how could Eustace have worked with such a delusional brute of a man?" Katherine wondered aloud.

Although she knew that Ambassador Chapuys truly believed that he was working in her interests and she was certain that he had not asked Brereton to kill the children, she still found herself horrified and shocked that he would take such extreme measures.

Surely, he had known that she would never condone or suggest murdering her daughter's rivals. Best interests or not, she would have thought he would at least asked for her blessing if not Mary before committing such foul acts. Of course he probably knew they would never agree and that is why he never suggested it to them.

"Mother, there are rumors that His Excellency was working under orders of Emperor Charles. Do you think that's true?" Mary asked.

"No, Charles is many things but I think by now the only reason he wants His Holiness to undo the annulment is because he knows it was only given in the first place because of an act of revenge on him. My nephew isn't stupid, he knows that with two sons, your father is not willing to call them bastards," Katherine said, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "Speaking of your father, I worry about what is going to happen now. With Pope Paul wanting to investigate and the attack on his wife and children, I fear that the King will act drastically to make sure his children are secure."

"He would never hurt us," Mary said firmly. That at least she was sure of. However she did worry that her father might deem it necessary to make her a bastard again.

"I didn't mean us, Mary, I meant the church," Katherine explained. "Your father has been on the brink of breaking ties with Rome, if Pope Paul continues to insist on revisiting whether or not he and I were truly married after what just happened, I fear that might push him over the edge."

"We'll get through it together, Mama, just like we did before," Mary assured her, taking Katherine's hand in both of hers and squeezing it. "We might not know what God has in store for us but I know that we can make it through."

* * *

**_December 25 1534_**

In five days, Brereton and Chapuys would be executed. King Henry signed their death warrants with almost sadistic pleasure. Neither Brereton nor Chapuys had expressed any remorse for their actions, although Chapuys swore that he had never wanted the children dead.

He now read over the letters from France, Spain and Rome.

King Francis had sent a letter, expressing his horror and shock that the Emperor's servant would conspire to kill a mother and her children. He wrote that his son and daughter were so relieved when they learned that their spouses-to-be were unharmed. Princess Marguerite had even rushed to her chambers to write a letter to her fiancé, hoping her words would comfort him in his time of need. The French monarch also suggested the make an alliance against Emperor Charles in the near future. Something Henry was not opposed to in the slightest.

Emperor Charles had also sent a message, swearing up and down that he had nothing to do with his ambassador's plots against Queen Anne or the princes and princesses. (This was the first time he had acknowledged them by their true titles). He insisted that he was horrified by his servants' actions and had no argument with Henry's choice of punishment. He also suggested a marriage between the Duke of York and his niece Magdalena of Austria.

Pope Paul had similar sentiments of horror at what had occurred, aghast that two men had chosen to use God's words to carry out such brutal murders. He assured Henry that he knew that God favored Queen Anne and he was certain that the papal courts would find in his favor.

Although Henry was still a bit suspicious of the Emperor's words, he was glad to read his letter almost as much as he was to read Francis' letter. However reading what Pope Paul wrote incensed him, taking the polite words as an insult although he doubted they were intended as such.

The red-haired monarch called from an impromptu privy council meeting.

"He's trying to manipulate me. The bastard is trying to use this travesty to convince me to do as he says," Henry growled. "Every time Rome has meddled in my business, Anne is nearly killed. I am done playing by their rules. It is time, gentlemen to sever our ties with Rome."

"Your Majesty, perhaps you are acting a bit too hasty," Charles Brandon spoke up. Besides him the Duke of Norfolk rolled his eyes.

"Too hasty? His Majesty has been more than patient," Thomas Howard remarked. As Catholic as he was, he had known for sometime that eventually England would become Lutheran. If Henry didn't do it, Prince George would once he succeeded his father and became the next ruler.

"Besides we have slowly but surely been pruning England's church of the corruption the clergy has caused. All that will change now is King Henry will be the Supreme Head in title as well as name," Thomas Boleyn pointed out. He did not gloat as he knew that it was entirely possible that this step could cause France to withdraw their support and annul the double marriage betrothal.

"Then it is decided. Cromwell, Cranmer and Audley, I want you to draft the Act of Supremacy and whatever else you deem is necessary to ensure that my people are no longer looking to the vicar of Rome instead of their sovereign," Henry decreed.

Henry would not let Rome make another decision for him. He was the King of England and he answered to no one but God.

It was time he made that clear to those who dared to think they could command him.


	13. The Calm Before the Storm

**_January 10 1536 _**

The mood in Kimbolton Castle was somber as the occupants mourned the loss of the Princess Dowager. It had been three days since Katherine of Aragon had passed away but to Mary it felt like it had only been a few hours since she lost her beloved mother.

She knew that her mother's death should not have been a surprise as she had been ill for some time but Mary had hoped that she would get better as she had done so before. Alas, God decided it was time to call Katherine to her heavenly reward that she justly deserved after all she had been through.

Mary kneeled at the alter, her hands clasped together as she closed her eyes, ignoring the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

"I swear to you, Mama, that I will do everything in my power to be the queen you wanted me to be," Mary declared fiercely.

A year ago, those words would have been treasonous. But weeks ago, her father had start negotiations with King Gustav of Sweden, a Lutheran widower twenty years her senior.

It wasn't set in stone but if all went accordingly, Mary would be the Queen of Sweden by her twenty-first birthday.

When Katherine had heard the news she had been pleased that if her daughter was not to be the Queen of England at least she would be a queen, a position she was destined to be.

_"But he is a heretic, Mother, I would have thought you of all people would understand why I cannot marry him," Mary said firmly. She knew that she could very well be courting her father's ire if she refused to abide by his will. However she would prefer to remain unmarried than to marry a heretic even if he was a king. _

_"Ten years ago, I would have agreed with you, my sweet daughter," Katherine said sadly, a faraway look in her eyes. "But now I am a realist. Your father will never marry you to a Catholic King, he fears too much for his heir to do such a thing. However, you are the granddaughter of three great monarchs and you deserve a marriage fitting of your heritage and if a Lutheran King is the only chance you have to be the great queen I know you will be than I pray that you will take it." _

_"But what about you. I don't want to leave you," Mary murmured, burying her face in the crook of her mother's neck as she had when she was a child. _

_Of course, she always knew that one day she would have to leave her mother's side, save for those brief years when she was the Princess of Wales, and while it saddened her, she knew that it was her duty as a princess to leave her home country to be with her new husband. _

_However, after many years where it felt like it was her mother and her against the world, leaving her mother to go to a country of strangers who would no doubt be hostile to a Catholic queen consort would almost unbearable. _

_The mere idea of not being with her mother had become incomprehensible. _

Now it seemed that was exactly what she must do. Before her mother's death, there had been a chance, however slim, that her father and Gustav might be willing to allow her mother to accompany her.

Unfortunately, it was not to be and Mary knew that her mother would not want her to waste her time on tears. In a year, she would be in Sweden as the wife and queen of King Gustav and she would have to be a mother for her future stepson, the Crown Prince Eric. She would be the queen her mother wanted her to be.

But for now, Mary would grieve her poor mother who had suffered for some many years, her dreams dying one by one until all she had left was the hope that her daughter become a great queen. And Mary would be damned before she let her mother's last wish go ungranted.

For her mother's sake, she would do anything.

* * *

_**January 29 1536 **_

It was not only bothersome to be stuck in bed with a sprained ankle, it was also utterly humiliating. King Henry had planned a joust for today, only for him to trip over his robe and have a nasty fall down the stairs. Thankfully, only his grooms witnessed his embarrassing fall and all he suffered was the aforementioned ankle and a spilling headache. It was still annoying as the royal physician had insisted that he should stay off his ankle to let it heal properly, forcing him to remain in bed.

"If you truly love me, Anne, you will stop this madman from keeping me captive," Henry complained, mock scowling at Dr. Butts.

"Well now you know how I feel every time I'm stuck in bed after giving birth to our children," Anne teased him gently, placing his hand on her swollen abdomen, knowing it would make him smile. "It will only be for a few days-three at the most- just so we can be sure it heals properly and that you don't have a concussion."

Henry winced at the reminder that he had hit his head on the way down. He had been very lucky according to Dr. Butts that he hadn't split his skull open.

"I shall be disappointed to miss the joust," Henry grumbled, scowling like a child who had been refused sweets. He knew he could cancel it especially when Anne couldn't attend for fear too much excitement would cause a miscarriage. But everything was already set up and it was too nice a day to waste an activity loved by his court. Despite this, he still could not help feeling irked by the fact that while everyone else was having fun, their king would be stuck in his bed like an invalid.

As if she could read his thoughts, Anne sat on the bed beside him, cupping his face with her hands. "How about I stay here with you, we can play chess and cards, read poetry to each other. Whatever you would prefer, my love," she suggested. Henry grinned at her, sending his grooms to fetch the chess board.

Cromwell and her father could handle petitioners and whatever bit of statecraft needed to get done. She and Henry could spend some time together while the rest of the court was at the joust.

* * *

"Ten years ago, I was merely a member of Wolsey's household and you were a mere orphan boy and now look at us," Cromwell observed. "A baron and Lord Chancellor. As for you, my boy, you are one of my cleverest clerks and a favored courtier of the Queen and the King."

"I never took you for being a sentimental man, my lord," Andrew remarked, a bemused expression on his face. Surely the wily old fox had not just called him into his office to remind him of theirhumble roots. "Besides I believe that you exaggerate when you call me a favored courtier."

"Perhaps but the King has still chosen to make you a knight and furthermore, he wishes for you become a member of the Prince of Wales' household in Ludlow," Cromwell explained. "I'm sure that I do not need to tell you the importance of being a groomsmen of the crown prince. He will be the first King of England to be fully for religious reform."

While it was true that King Henry had declared himself Head of the English church, the reformation was still moving slowly as in his heart Henry was still Catholic. However, Prince George's tutors and chaplain were strictly Lutheran and would be able to mold the young boy's mind into embracing the reformation fully.

"So you wish to use me to further your agenda?" Andrew asked, sounding a little outraged.

Cromwell gave him a nonplussed look. "Young man, you have lived at court for the past four years. Politics is a dangerous game and right now, we are allies which means we must look out for our interests," he said in a clipped tone.

"Right now we're allies?" Andrew repeated with an eyebrow raised, wondering if that was a thinly veiled threat on the new baron's part. Would Cromwell find a way to get rid of him if he did not do as the older man said.

"Right now I am useful to the King but he is a fickle man and my high post will attract jealousy if it does not already. There will be enemies ready to strike me down the moment I start to lose favor," Cromwell told him matter of factly. "And when I fall, I expect you to turn me as it will be the only way for you to keep favor."

Cardinal Wolsey, for all his faults, was a good man. He had once told Cromwell if the Boleyns ever succeeded in turning the King against him, that he would understand if his protégée sold him out in order to protect himself.

Thankfully that never happened and Wolsey died with the King morning the loss of his old friend and diligent councilor. However, Cromwell would have done as his mentor told him had things been different and he wouldn't hold it against any of his allies to do for saving their own necks instead of risking the favor they had with the King and their own lives in an attempt to save him. In fact, it would be better if those he partnered with lived while he died as they could continue his work.

"I shall do as you ask," Andrew said firmly, getting up and bowing shallowly. He felt slightly shaken by the chancilor's words but he was determined not to let his mentor down.

"Good lad," Cromwell complimented, nodding his head, giving the boy a warm smile.

After Andrew left, Cromwell looked out the window, wondering what life would be like ten years from now?

Prince George would be a young man on the cusp of adulthood and hopefully his bride would be pregnant with their first child by then. Perhaps he would be king by then.

Good God, Cromwell prayed he would live long enough to see the fruits of his labor and work with the next King to fully immerse England with religious reform. To see the golden age, he had envisioned all those years ago.

Until then, Cromwell would work towards rooting out the corruption of the monasteries, dismantling the remains of Catholicism and hopefully he would not lose his head in the process.

* * *

With both the King and Queen being indisposed, the Duke of Richmond and Somerset had been selected as acting as their proxy with his wife standing sitting by his side.

Norfolk couldn't help but think they almost looked like a royal couple. In another life, he might just as well have been the Queen of England's father instead of uncle. Disappointingly, despite three years of marriage, his daughter had yet to become pregnant which meant that unlike his brother-in-law, he was not the grandfather of a child with as much royal blood flowing in his veins as Prince George and his siblings had. If he could not be the grandfather of the next King of England than at the very least, he wanted his next grandchild to be the grandchild of King Henry.

He was brought out of his musing by his brother-in-law speaking to him.

"I see the Imperial Ambassador has decided to grace us with his presence," Thomas Boleyn observed, his lips curled into a sneer as he watched the man talk to the Duchess of Suffolk and her mother, no doubt talking about the late Katherine of Aragon and her dratted daughter, taking care to speak in Spanish, knowing that most of the courtiers would not understand it. "Quite interesting how he decides to join a court function where my daughter is unable to attend."

"Perhaps but with the Dowager Princess dead and Pope Paul not declaring that His Majesty's marriage with Anne a farce, I have no doubt Emperor Charles will be changing his tune soon. After all, continuing to badger the Pope would be fruitless now that his aunt is dead and his cousin is still a princess," Norfolk remarked.

It was strange that after King Henry's decision to declare himself as the Head of the English Church and his passing an act that called for the dissolution of the monasteries that Pope Paul had not lashed out by excommunicating the red-haired monarch and rescinding his predecessor's Papal Bull, making all of Anne's children bastards and her no better than the King's concubine.

Perhaps Pope Paul thought if he did nothing, King Henry's temper would cool and he would eventually return to the flock of Rome or the Princess Dowager would die, making her nephew's push for her reinstatement pointless.

Sadly the Duke of Norfolk was aware that even if Pope Paul tried to extend an olive branch, King Henry would not accept it. He believed that the Catholic Church was the cause of the three attempts on Anne's life and it didn't matter to him that two of these attacks happened during Pope Clement's lifetime and that it was not Pope Paul's fault that his suggestion of a trial incited Brereton and Chapuys to try to kill Anne and her children.

King Henry felt that the Bishop of Rome had controlled him for to long as well as putting his loved ones in danger. Even if he didn't think like that, the monarch was far too stubborn to swallow his pride and act like the prodigal son, willing to submit himself to his father's will.

Thankfully while Norfolk feared that eventually the Pope would excommunicate King Henry, he was certain that His Holiness would not invalidate the royal marriage now that the situation was moot with the death of Katherine of Aragon especially not when he could be accused of doing it out of spite. Therefore allowing Prince George and his siblings to remain legitimate in the eyes of Europe.

And if he could not claim to be the grandfather of the future King of England, then he would be happy to say he was the great-uncle of the future King of England, Queen of France, Duke of York and perhaps even a Holy Roman Empress if the current Emperor decided to seek out England's friendship, something he would need when he was fighting with France over Milan.

With that though in mind, the Duke Norfolk returned his attention to the joust with a smirk on his face, pleased with his family's accomplishments, both past and future.

* * *

**_February 8 1536 _**

When she sent her stepdaughter an invitation to join her for her midday meal, Anne had almost expected a polite refusal. While her relationship with Mary was less strained than it had been all those years ago, she could not call it warm by any stretch of the imagination.

They were cordial at least, bound together by their shared love of Henry, George, Annette, Edward and Elizabeth. However there was still some tension and Anne was worried that her stepdaughter would begin to resent her again now that her mother was dead.

Thankfully when Princess Mary arrived at the Queen's apartments, Anne could detect no anger or malice. The only expression on the younger woman's face was one of melancholy as she took in the rooms that had once belong to her mother.

Mary curtsied shallowly, waiting for Anne to give her leave to sit with her. The ladies-in-waiting served the two woman plates of meat and bread and two full goblets of wine-although Anne's was heavily watered down so not to harm her baby.

"Princess Mary, thank you for coming. The King and I are most glad you have returned to court," Anne said kindly. She didn't ask how Mary was faring as she could make an educated guess from the dark black dress that she was still reeling from her mother's death.

"I am glad to be back, my lady Stepmother," Mary told her, a strained smile on her face that did not reach her eyes.

There was silence between them as they ate. Mary not quite in the mood for talking even idle chit chat and Anne was struggling to choose her next words carefully, not wanting to accidentally offend the girl. She decided perhaps to wait until after they had finished eating and instead, she decided to talk about the royal children who would return to court to celebrate their sister's birthday.

Thankfully Mary seemed to be willing to talk about her half-siblings, listening to how they were faring even smiling when Anne mentioned that Elizabeth was often escaping Mistress Champernowne to sneak into her older siblings' schoolroom, not caring that the lessons they were learning were far too advanced for a two-year-old, no matter how smart she is.

"She is a darling child," Mary complimented. "I hope to spend as much time with my siblings as much as I can while I'm still in England."

"The English Ambassador reports that King Gustav is handsome and kind man. I hear that his son Prince Eric is quite eager to meet you," Anne remarked, hoping that she could make the match seem a bit more appealing to Mary. However her words sounded awkward as she knew that she could never claim to know how a royal arranged marriage fared, not to mention as far as Mary was concerned, she had broken up her parents' marriage. "Your father believes that it will be a year before you must go to Sweden so perhaps you could write letters to King Gustav, try to get to know him a little."

"A year? Is there a reason for this delay?" Mary inquired, her brow furrowing in confusion. After all by April, it would be six months since the death of King Gustav's previous consort. And with his only son being a toddler, she had expected that he would have wanted to marry sooner rather than later.

"Just negotiations over your dowry and whether or not you will have to convert to Lutheranism," Anne explained. When she saw the color drain from Mary's face, she quickly added: "Your father will never allow any of his daughters to be forced to convert to a religion they don't believe in. I believe that as long as you do not practice Catholicism in public, your future husband will not mind." Mary nodded, her worries temporarily soothed. When they finished their meal, Anne singled for her sister to bring the ornate wooden box sitting on her mantel place and present it to Mary. "It has come to my attention that your mother has left some of her personal jewels behind and I wanted to be sure that they were returned to her heiress."

She hoped that giving Mary her mother's jewels would be seen as kind gesture instead of one highlighting that the Queen's jewels no longer belonged to the late Katherine of Aragon. From the happy tears in Mary's eyes and the earnestly in her voice when she thanked her stepmother, it seemed that it was taken as the former to Anne's immense relief.

* * *

Meanwhile in his audience chamber, King Henry squinted as he inspected the portrait of his daughter that would be sent to Sweden for King Gustav to have. (The English ambassador had sent letter saying that the Swedish Monarch had commissioned a portrait of himself to be Mary's birthday gift).

After spending a few moments studying the portrait, making sure that there was no detail the artist had gotten wrong, King Henry to the rather apprehensive looking painter giving him a nod of approval.

"Well done Master Holbein, you have captured my daughter's elegance perfectly," he complimented the man. His eyes lit up when an idea struck him. "I think after the Queen has delivered our fifth child, you should paint a portrait of the whole royal family."

After all, if the negotiations went through, it would be the last time Mary would be able to be the subject of one of Master Hans Holbein the Younger's paintings. It would be hard to say goodbye to his precious pearl but Henry was certain that his daughter would make a fine wife and queen.

The only rub in the marriage arrangement was religion. Henry knew from experience how his daughter clung to religion, following her mother's footsteps in that regard. With Sweden newly Lutheran, it was entirely possible that King Gustav might not want a Catholic Queen, regardless of how she practiced her faith.

God willing, his daughter would be Queen of Sweden, it was the least she deserved.

* * *

Miles away from Whitehall, the Duke of Richmond and Somerset had decided to take a detour from his journey and visit his half-siblings at Hatfield.

Prince George had grown taller since Hal had seen him last. Before he and Annette were of similar height, now they stood side by side with Georgie being a head taller. He did not run to greet his half-brother as Annette and Edward did-despite their governess' futile efforts to remind them to behave properly when greeting guests. Instead he took Elizabeth's hand in his and led her over, telling her who Hal Fitzroy was as she was not as familiar with her half-brother as she was with her half-sister due to former not visiting the royal children's household as often as Mary did.

Princess Annette was her mother's daughter and it showed in more than her name, her red hair was growing darker and her eyes glowed as her mother did when Hal told her how pretty she looked in her new dress.

Prince Edward would be five-years-old soon enough and he was not a boy who could stand still, after Hal stopped hugging him, he hoped from one foot to another as he quizzed Hal wondering if he had brought him anything.

Princess Elizabeth was the youngest and Hal assumed that she was shy just by the way George seemed to be carefully introducing her to the stranger she had only meet a handful of times when she was a small baby. However when he got a closer look at her face, he saw no apprehension or fear, instead her sharp eyes seemed to look through him and she tilted her head curiously, her brow furrowed.

"If you are our brother, then why are you not a prince?" she asked.

"Elizabeth! That is not polite!" Annette admonished her sister when their governesses seemed too startled by the bluntness of the princess to scold her for the inappropriateness of that question, however innocent it was intended.

Despite feeling slightly embarrassed, Hal tried to keep his expression pleasant as he kneeled down so his face would be level with the toddler, not wanting her to feel bad about asking a completely reasonable question even if it was awkward.

"I'm not a prince because I'm not the son of your mother," Hal explained, hoping Elizabeth would be satisfied with that answer and would ask him to elaborate.

"But neither is Mary and she is a princess," Elizabeth pointed out.

Hal inwardly cursed at his own foolishness. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Annette, Ned and Georgie now looked just as perplexed as well and he was certain that despite her instance that it wasn't polite, Annette would be asking their older sister just why that was.

"It's complicated," Hal said, standing up and looking desperately at Lady Bryan, hoping the chief governess would distract the children.

"We are not dumb babies," Edward snapped, puffing up his chest in an attempt to seem more grown-up. He than glanced at Elizabeth, frowning as if he thought she was the cause for the secrecy of the adults. "Well expect maybe Elizabeth."

Most children would have cried or thrown a tantrum at such an insult, Elizabeth simply fixed her brother with a fierce glare, causing him to mumble a sorry.

"Enough. I'm sure Hal will explain everything when we are older," George said firmly, looking up at his older brother expectantly. "Won't you, Hal?"

"Of course I will," Hal lied, hoping he would never have to tell his siblings not only circumstances surrounding his birth (although he loved his mother and father, he couldn't help but sometimes resent his title of bastard), but the whole business of the Great Matter was a topic he would very much never want to have to talk about for fear of either offending his father, Anne or Mary.


	14. All Bad Things Come in Threes

**_February 18 1536_**

Once seeing Anne on the Queen's throne, clearly pregnant had filled Mary with such hateful fury. Furious that her stepmother would flaunt her stolen status, hatred that this woman had not only successfully taken her mother's crown, bewitching her father and the pope to do so but she dared to think that her child, her bastard would be a better heir than Mary herself.

It was truly frightening how angry she had been back then.

Now she looked at her stepmother carrying, not her rival, but her sibling; a sibling who would only know her through Hal, Georgie, Annette, Edward and perhaps even Elizabeth.

She would be leaving by the end of August after a proxy marriage was held in England. This would be the last birthday she would have in her homeland because by next February she would be the Queen of Sweden.

And then would she be the one sitting in the Queen's throne, pregnant with Gustav's spare or would she suffer like her mother had, experiencing miscarriage after miscarriage until her husband grew tired of her and turned his fancy elsewhere?

God, when had she turned so morose? Today was her birthday. She should be celebrating, not lamenting the past and painting a dark picture of her future. By all accounts King Gustav was a noble and kind man. He had agreed fairly quickly to Mary being able to practice her religion in private (with the understanding that she would have to partake in the Lutheran rites publicly with the Swedish court). He had also sent her a letter, expressing his condolences for her mother's death and telling her to take heart for while her mother is now sitting at God's table, she would always be with Mary in spirit.

He also assured her that he and his son were eagerly awaiting her arrival and that he was certain that Eric would be a good and dutiful stepson as she would be to that poor motherless boy.

It gave Mary hope that her life in Sweden would not be so bad and just maybe one day, she would be the pregnant queen, happily waiting for the day she would be able to hold her child for the first time.

"Mary, come here, sweetheart," her father called for her, beckoning her over to the dais. He beamed at his daughter as she made her over to him and Anne. "I wanted to get a better look at you, my pearl, I still cannot believe how you have grown into beautiful young lady. It seems like it was only yesterday I could hold you in my arms. I want you to know how very proud I am of you."

Tears filed Mary's eyes at her father's tender words. With her mother gone, her father was all she had left and although his words once would have made her think of happier days when she was a child, there was no Anne Boleyn, her mother had still been queen and she was her father's only heir. Now all she could think was how glad she was that she would have these last few months to spend time with him.

"Thank you, Father, your words mean the world to me," Mary assured him. She was going to add that she would strive to be a queen like her mother but she was certain that no matter how much he loved her, her father would still not react well to her labeling her mother as queen. For all of his kindness towards her, King Henry still insisted that their once loving marriage was not a true one, unwilling to allow anyone to even think of Katherine of Aragon as anything but his late brother's widow.

"Come sit down, my pearl," Henry ordered gesturing to the throne next to Anne, usually used whenever Henry wanted Georgie to have his own seat (although he would often allow one of his other young children sit there as well as he and Anne couldn't fit them all on their laps). When Mary did so, he learned over to her. "I think I see the Swedish Ambassador, looking quite eager to present something to you. Shall I put the man out of his misery?"

Mary glanced over to where her father indicated and realized that the Swedish Ambassador had been trying to discreetly catch her attention for the past thirty minutes but because Mary had been so caught up in her thoughts, she had not paid the man she hadn't recognized any attention.

"Of course," Mary replied, feeling a bit embarrassed that she had been ignoring the envoy of her future husband's realm.

King Henry beckoned the man over. "Your Excellency, welcome back to court. I hope you are enjoying your time in England," he greeted him with a polite nod of his head after the man had bowed three times.

"Your Majesty, I must say that it is an honor and a privilege to be here again at your magnificent court," the ambassador gushed, his Swedish accent most prominent.

"You have already met my beautiful wife, Anne, but I don't think you have been formally introduced you to my daughter yet," Henry continued, taking Mary's hand in his. "Ambassador Axel Nilsson, I am most happy to present my eldest daughter, Princess Mary Tudor."

"I am glad to have met you, Your Excellency, I hope you are well," Mary said formally, extending her hand for the ambassador to kiss.

"I am most well, Your Highness," the ambassador replied as he kissed her hand before stepping back. "I hope you doing well yourself on this blessed day." When Mary assured him he was, he changed to subject to his master. "King Gustav not only sends his well wishes but he also would like for me to present you a gift he had designed especially for you."

Once he received permission, the ambassador signaled for his servant to present Mary an opened jewelry box with a golden heart-shaped locket inside. Inside the locket was a miniature portrait of King Gustav himself. Mary took the locket so she could study King Gustav closer: he was a handsome man with a bushy beard.

"Tell him I received the gift gladly and that when we meet for the first time, I shall be wearing this proudly," Mary declared, hoping that no one would ask her to wear it straight away. While she did like her gift, she would prefer to wear her mother's cross until she arrived in Sweden.

* * *

**_March 9 1536 _**

"Papa's home!" Marian announced as if Jane could not see that for herself. However Jane had no intention of scolding her sister as they ran into the arms of their beloved father.

"Oh my precious doves, at last we have been reunited," George declared dramatically. "I have missed you greatly."

"We have missed you too. It's been so boring here without you," Jane complained. "I think even Johnny is bored and he's only a baby."

"And how is my boy?" George asked, directing his question to his children's governess.

John Boleyn was born only three months ago and he was named for his maternal grandfather and paternal great-uncle (something George had pointed out when his father had complained about the name).

"A delightful child. As robust as his sisters," the woman informed him with a smile.

As if on cue, Anna came into the parlor with their son in her arms. She beamed at him as she brought the Viscount of Rochford to him. George gave his daughters a kiss each before letting them go and standing up to greet his wife and son.

"I thought John might want to say hello to his Papa as well," Anna explained as she carefully laid the wiggling baby into his father's outstretched arms.

"My boy," George murmured, using his finger to stroke his son's face. "Have your sisters been looking after you?"

"We have, Papa," Janey spoke up. "While Mama was still being churched, Marian and I rarely left the nursery."

George glanced up from his son and noted that Mistress Baker's expression was one of annoyance and he could gather that Janey was not exaggerating when she said they rarely left the nursery, perhaps even ignoring their governess' instructions. While the parent in him wanted to scold his daughters for being disobedient, he couldn't help but think that Anne would have ignored their governess for to watch over him and that just made him love his daughters even more.

"After you left, they made sure to spend time with me until I was churched," Anna said, giving the two girls a fond smile. "John and I are very lucky to have them."

"I would expect no less from my doves," George complimented before handing John to Mistress Baker. "I want to hear about everything you two have been up to but first I must talk to your mother in private."

"Is about something bad?" Marian asked worriedly.

"No, my darling, it is about something nice," George assured her, ruffling her hair. When he and Anna went to the study, he made sure to close the door to prevent any mischievous little eavesdropper from listening in. "How are you, sweetheart? I'm sorry I had to leave so quickly."

While Thomas Boleyn was thrilled at finally getting a healthy grandson to carry on his surname, he clearly felt that George needed to return to court as soon as possible to carry out his duties as a member of the King's privy council. He summoned him back to court two days after John's christening.

"It's all right, I know how your father can be," Anna assured him. "And to answer your question, I am very well."

"Good. I kept fearing that…" George trailed off, swallowing thickly. Even though the threat of Anna getting child bed fever had passed, he didn't even feel comfortable referencing it "The King has decided that it is high time his nephew gets engaged and of course Father has pointed out that his granddaughters are around his age."

"Granddaughters? Is he including Cathy in this?" Anna asked with a raised eyebrow. She of course knew that Princess Annette wouldn't be included in that statement for obvious reasons but she wondered if proud Thomas Boleyn would be willing to give allow his granddaughter from his least favorite child to marry the son of duke.

"Although Cathy is closer in age, I believe my father just meant Janey and Marian. However, being the man he is, he has already started looking into potential spouses for all of his grandchildren," George told her with a laugh.

With Cromwell being made a baron, Thomas had thought Gregory would make a good perspective husband for Cathy. George had no doubt this was simply a tactic to ensure that Cromwell remained loyal to the Boleyns. Despite her father being a mere knight, his father still viewed Catherine as much to valuable to be married off to a baseborn baron's son otherwise. Cathy's brother, the Baron of Hunsdon, was soon to be betrothed to Lady Lucy Somerset, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Worcester.

"So our daughter will be a duchess and what does the Duke of Wiltshire has in store for the other one?" Anna asked curiously. Instead of answering George just beamed at her. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Nothing, you just said our daughter," George said with a fond smile.

"Well I've come to see both Janey and Marian as my daughters even if I did not give birth to them myself," Anna said softly. "Even if they never called me Mama, I would still love them as if they were my flesh and blood."

"Thank you. It's nice to know that while I'm away I can trust that my daughters are loved and nurtured by a woman with such a big heart," George complimented her. "To answer your question: the Marquess of Exeter has suggested his only son and I think Father is most agreeable. Nothing has been set in stone as of yet; mostly because the Duke of Suffolk has yet to agree but if it goes well we shall have a double wedding once the girls are of age." George could see by the look on Anna's face that she was calculating when the girls would be of marriable age and therefore ready to leave home. He took her hand in his and gently squeezed it. "Don't worry. We still have time with them."

* * *

**_March 22 1536_**

Now that the betrothal between King Gustav and Princess Mary was finalized, it had been announced to the people of England. Although they would be sad to see her go, the English subjects were happy at this news. Except for the Catholics who viewed Mary be sent away from England to marry a Lutheran King as just another tactic of heretics who wanted the true faith to be eradicated.

"Prince George's education is being completely controlled by heretics and I have no doubt that Prince Edward's education will be the same," Henry Pole, Baron of Montagu began.

"Do not call those bastards by their stolen titles. King Henry has only one legitimate child and it's not the spawn of that whore," the Marquess of Dorset snarled.

"The Pope disagrees with you, my lady," Henry pointed out. Although he hated to admit it, even if the Pope declared the children of Anne Boleyn illegitimate, the fact that King Henry had male heirs would make the English people more willing to accept them over Mary.

According to Reginald, Pope Paul was reluctant to repudiate his predecessor's previous verdict for fear of looking just as vindictive but if he were to threaten to excommunicate King Henry, perhaps that would be enough to snap the red-haired monarch out of the trance he was currently under.

"Perhaps if he knew that Anne Boleyn still married to my husband, he would acknowledge that her bastards are illegitimate," the Countess of Northumberland suggested.

After all, it was well known that Henry Percy and Anne Boleyn had wanted to be married but Henry was forced to marry her instead. Over the years Mary had become convinced that her husband and Anne had been married secretly and she was living in sin, so she had tried to obtain an annulment under those grounds only to be refused and threatened by Cromwell.

"You already tried that and the King refused to believe you. He and my brother are under that bitch's thrall. My brother was a good man who could have been a dutiful Earl if it was not for the Boleyn witch," Thomas Percy remarked.

The Baron of Montagu held back a derisive snort. Everyone knew that the Earl of Northumberland's relationship was strained with his family to the point where he had put in his will that his lands and titles were to be given to the Crown instead of his younger brother.

Although there was no doubt that he was willing to fight against the heretics, Henry Pole was certain that most of his anger towards Anne Boleyn was because of her indirect role in turning Henry Percy against his father and brother.

"She's not the only one who is damaging England," Henry Grey pointed out. "Because of men like Thomas Cromwell, at least fifty monasteries are due to close within the next year with their occupants being kicked out and their land being sold off."

"We cannot allow the Princess Mary to marry that Lutheran King of Sweden, we must protect her," Margaret Pole stated, bringing everyone back to the topic at hand. Queen Katherine would be rolling over in her grave if she knew what was to happen to her beloved daughter.

"Perhaps we can. After all if Princess Mary were to marry one of her cousins, we could use their combined royal blood to take the throne from King Henry and his children," Frances suggested, not caring the man she was talking about was her uncle and his children were her cousins just as much as Mary was.

"Madam, what you are suggesting is treason," Margaret remarked, her eyes wide. Not to mention, it would take a miracle to convince Mary to turn against her father especially when she had confessed to her governess some years ago that she would not allow another Cousin War to happen in her name.

"Not if we win," Frances replied, a smirk on her lips. No one could disagree with that statement.

* * *

As Anne would be going into confinement in the early weeks of April, she had thought it would be best to talk to Cromwell now instead of later. She was growing concerned about the Dissolution of the Monasteries and how many religious houses were due to being closed. It seemed to her unlikely that they all were corrupt and she was beginning to wonder if this was more about filling the royal treasury and Cromwell's own coffers.

"Our religious reform was never about financial gain," Anne reminded the councilor. She decided not to go as far as to accuse him of making up bad reports, although she strongly suspected that there was one or two fabrication or exaggeration. "The people of England rely on these religious houses and such a large number of closers will sow seeds of discontent."

"Your Majesty, I can assure you that I am only acting in the best interests of the King," Cromwell assured her. "After all he wants your son to ascend the throne of a stable country free of corruption." And a full treasury of course.

"While I do not deny that I wish to eradicate the corruption of the Catholic Church, I still think there could be better uses for the religious houses that are closed down. Perhaps more poorhouses or schools can be built," Anne suggested.

"Your Majesty, may I speak freely?" Cromwell asked in a gentle voice. He did not make the mistake of talking down to her as he was far too familiar with her temper to treat her as though she was just an empty-headed chit.

"Of course."

"We could convert every priory and abbey into a poorhouse but those who are still deeply rooted in Catholicism will still protest them being closed," Cromwell explained, guessing she had heard of the would-be rebellion over in Ireland that risen up in protest against the changes the English Church was making. He had no doubt she was concerned it would happen as well. "The only way to counter it is to get rid of the very symbols of the Catholic corruption, allowing the English people to think for themselves instead of being guided by so-called pious men of God."

"You spoke freely and now I shall," Anne said as if Cromwell could stop her from speaking her mind. "While it is true that there are some strong-minded men not willing to give up their faith, they are more likely to rebel if they think their religion is under attack. England has been at peace for the past ten years because we have slowly been introducing our reforms, allowing the King's subject to get used to it but if we act too quickly, it could lead to civil unrest if not war."

"Your Majesty, I promise you that I have everything well at hand," Cromwell told her firmly, hoping she would leave it well enough alone.

She was a clever woman and Cromwell enjoyed working with her but even if he shared her fears, the King did not and would want Cromwell to continue closing down the religious houses, filling the royal treasury to the brim.

"I certainly hope so, because if not, it will be your head on a pike," Anne said coldly, not happy with his deflection.

It was not a threat but a statement; both of them knew that. For the minute things start going badly, King Henry would want a scapegoat.

With that last remark, Queen Anne spun on her heels and walked away her head held high.

Although he was aware that she was not wrong, Cromwell would continue his work with closing down the religious houses. The old ways were already dying out and the councilor was simply speeding up the process.

He was certain the Queen was worrying needlessly and perhaps it was simply the pregnancy causing her to be short-tempered. Once she had her child, she would see things more clearly and understand there was nothing to worry about.

* * *

**_May 19 1536_**

Anne woke up in the early hours of the morning, feeling strangely cold. Before she could decide whether or not she should wake up her ladies and request they go down to the kitchen and get her some fresh fruit or simply try to fall back asleep, her face convulsed as a contraction ripped through her body.

It seemed that after being two weeks late, her child had decided it was time to come out, fashionably late of course.

"Ladies, I bid you to rise quickly, it seems that we shall have a new addition to the royal nursery before this day is out," Anne called, rousing the two women by her bed.

Nan Corbin threw a robe on herself before fleeing the bedchambers to fetch the midwife and call the other ladies of Anne's household to their mistress' aid. Margery Horsman immediately went to Anne's side, making sure that other than being in labor, there was nothing wrong with the Queen.

"Already this child has dreadful manners, waking us up at such an early hour," Anne quipped, as she squeezed Margery's hand.

But for all the "bad manners" the baby had, the labor was thankfully a short one with the child being born just as the sky was turning from the pink of dawn to the blue of day.

"Your Majesty has given birth to a healthy boy," the midwife announced as she placed the boy into Anne's arms.

"My little Duke of Bedford," Anne declared, kissing the top of her son's head. "Welcome to the world little one." Although she would have loved to have another daughter, Anne couldn't help but be somewhat relived that she had another son. Not because she felt as her father and uncle did that three sons were better than two but because she knew that princesses were expected to marry foreign kings or princes, leaving their homeland never to return. But princes could stay with their mothers and Anne was grateful for that.

* * *

It had been a quarter before five when Henry was woken up and told that his wife was in labor. He had gotten up and dressed immediately, ordering two pages to make haste to Eltham Palace and to Leeds Castle to summon the royal children to court.

When he learned that he now had a fourth son, Henry was ecstatic, allowing Cromwell and Wiltshire to make sure the necessary arrangements for the celebration were made before rushing into Anne's rooms to greet her and their son.

"I must admit, that this was a wonderful way to wake up, learning I am to be a father again," Henry remarked, stroking the infant's head before kissing Anne's temple.

"He certainly knows how to make an entrance, keeping us guessing for weeks before he finally arrived when everyone was caught off guard," Anne jested, her eyes shinning with love for their new son.

"He is a most mischievous boy," Henry agreed with a hearty laugh.

"Just like his father before him," Anne remarked before glancing down at the swaddled infant who seemed to be staring her curiously.

"I have decided we should name him Owen so he can be a reminder to everyone of just how far us Tudors have come," Henry decreed. Had Owen Tudor not married the Dowager Queen of England, the Tudor dynasty would never have gotten started. Besides as George's name represented the Boleyns and Edward's name represented the Yorks it was only fair that his third son would represent his Tudor relatives. "Of course if you would prefer Jasper, that is a good name too."

"Owen Tudor Duke of Bedford does have a nice ring to it," Anne decided.

Henry smiled as he realized that now he had three sons of Tudor just like there had been three sons of York. However unlike the Duke of Clarence and the Duke of Gloucester, he was certain that his boys would stick together through thick and thin.

* * *

**_May 30 1536 _**

A week ago, he was fine. A week ago, he had gone to his youngest brother's christening. His father had made him one of the newest prince's godparents (with his wife, his oldest half-sister and the King of Sweden being the other three godparents).

But when the Duke of Richmond and Somerset had returned home, he began to feel ill. He began to cough frequently, sometimes he even coughed up blood. He was now stuck in bed with a high fever.

His father had sent his royal physician to take care of him.

"You have consumption, Your Grace," Doctor Butts informed him, his expression grave. While some people survived this disease, Henry Fitzroy's constitution had already been weakened by the sweat and it was unlikely he could survive two deadly diseases. However, Dr. Butts would do everything he could to help the young duke as his master was counting on him.

Hal could see by the expression on the physician's face that his condition was terminal and he could not help but feel a shudder of fear at knowing that his death would be inevitable.

The worst part was he felt he was letting his father and brother down by dying. Hadn't he promised them he would be George's advisor, guiding him throughout his kingship? His mother had been so certain he would make a great diplomat, succeeding in life by his own merits and not just because he was the son of a king. And when King Henry died, Hal would be George's diligent councilor and fiercest general.

Although Hal would not call himself ambitious, or at least not as ambitious as his father-in-law, he was still hoping he could make a name for himself beyond simply being the king's bastard.

But life was cruel and that glorious future he envisioned would never be. And Henry Fitzroy would soon just be footnote in the history books, known only by the relationship he had with his father and siblings.

* * *

**_June 11 1536_**

Bad things often came in threes.

Hal Fitzroy had died yesterday, devastating his father and siblings. Now the French ambassador had requested an audience, having dire news to tell them. And with King Henry refusing to see any visitors, Anne had to receive him instead.

"Your Majesty with a heavy heart, I must pass on the news that yesterday the Dauphin Francis died," the ambassador explained. While his expression was stoic, Anne could see redness of his eyes. The Dauphin's death was not just devastating to the French King but his subjects as well.

"How?" Anne asked, shocked that a seemingly healthy prince would just die like that. Had the French been keeping information that their heir was deathly ill? When the ambassador stiffened, Anne suddenly felt terrible for being insensitive. "Forgive me, Your Excellency, you have caught me unaware. I hope you will extend my condolences to King Francis."

The audience with the French Ambassador was hastily concluded after that. After he was gone, Anne all but collapsed in her chair, putting her head in her hands.

Dauphin Francis was dead, leaving her Annette without a future husband and with the only French connection to England being through the French Princess-Oh God, why was she thinking about politics right now? When had she become her father?

King Francis' son was dead just her stepson had died. Both boys had died on the same day.

Bad things often happened in threes. Anne could not help but wonder what misfortune would happen next.

* * *

**_July 6 1536 _**

Annette had been inconsolable when she learned the news of Dauphin Francis dying as it just added to the pain of Hal Fitzroy's death. She had hardly left her sister's side, begging Mary to come back to Eltham with the royal children once their father decided they should return there.

Although King Henry had officially stopped mourning his son's death, he seemed reluctant to let his other children out of his sight especially when Mary would soon be off to Sweden.

"Margot sent a letter to Georgie saying there has been a rumor in the French court that King Francis will annul Dauphin Fr—Henri's marriage to Dauphine Catherine and betroth him to me instead. Some courtiers are saying I will be another Anne Boleyn," Annette recalled, frowning as she was certain that was not a compliment. "It's not a bad thing if I become like my mother, is it?"

"Of course not," Mary assured her and it was a testament to how far she had come with her stepmother that she was not lying through her teeth when she said that. After all for all her problems with Anne, she could not deny that the lady was intelligent and witty, two fine traits Annette should strive for.

Furthermore, it was absolutely absurd to be comparing the two situations at all, besides the first names of the people involved, there were no other similarities.

"Mary, do you have to go to Sweden. Can't Papa find you a husband in England?" Annette asked softly, looking up entreatingly at Mary as if her sister had any say in the matter. (Well her father would never force her to marry King Gustav but saying no especially now was not something Mary could do).

"Oh, dear heart, I wish I could stay but Gustav and his son are already expecting me and I can't break the promise I made to them," Mary answered, taking her hand in hers, squeezing it.

"But I've already lost Hal and I don't know what's going to happen to me now. I need you Mary," Annette whispered, fresh tears dripping down her cheeks. She then began sobbing as she clung to her sister.

While she couldn't claim to be as friendly with Francis as Georgie was with Marguerite, the loss of him had still hit her hard as for the past eight years of her life, she had known she would be the French Queen and with Francis dead, her future was uncertain. As sad as she was with Hal's death, she was also terrified of the uncertainty of what was to come.

Mary wrapped her arms around her little sister, singing her mother's lullaby until Annette calmed down. Once she did so, Mary put her fingers under Annette's chin, lifting it up so she could look at her in the eyes.

"It's going to be okay, Annie, I promise you that I will write to you every day," Mary proclaimed. "Whenever you need guidance just write to me and I'll write back. I know it seems scary but I promise you that it will be okay."

"You'll write to me every day," Annette repeated skeptically.

"I cross my heart," she assured her.

"Will you visit me?" Annette asked.

"Of course," Mary replied, hoping Annette wouldn't ask that she visit every day, something that wouldn't be logical even if she had stayed in England.

"Will you sing that song again? It always makes me feel better," Annette implored her.

Mary smiled and began to sing the Spanish lullaby again, thinking with a fond chuckle that by now Annette must have it memorized.

* * *

The Queen would not gloat and yet Cromwell felt he would prefer if she did. Her gloating was far better than the anger in King Henry's eyes.

"They dared take up arms against my men and make demands of me," he repeated, his eye twitching in fury at the group of peasants who were going against his will.

Near the end of June, shortly after the closing of Louth Park Abby, the royal commissioners were accosted by a mob in Louth, stopping them from closing down St. James' Church.

In the next fortnight, the uprising had gotten bigger with peasants in nearby towns taking arms and refusing to allow the King's men entrance to their religious houses. And now they had sent a list of demands: the end of the Ten Articles, an end to the dissolution, an end to taxes in peacetime, a purge of heretics in government and the repeal of the Statute of Uses. It seemed that it had gone from simply defending the religious houses to a full scale rebellion.

"Hopefully the Duke of Suffolk's forces will quell the rebellion," Cromwell said, not quite as certain as he felt. There were rumors that the Countess of Salisbury's son, the Earl of Northumberland and Suffolk's own son-in-law were supporting the rebels that were popping up in Lincolnshire. If there was any truth to that matter then even if the uprising in Lincolnshire was stopped, they still would have a rebellion on their hands. "Your Majesty, I think it might be best to put the Poles, the Greys and the Percys under house arrest."

"Why? I'm sure if there was something to worry about, you would have already informed me," Henry snapped sarcastically. Cromwell had assured him there were no bad feelings about the dissolution of the monasteries, something Anne had doubted. He couldn't help but wonder what else Cromwell had been keeping from him.

"I have no evidence, Your Majesty, nothing but a letter from Thomas More informing me that the Marquess of Dorset had invited him to share a meal at his estate, telling him that the Earl of Northumberland's brother and wife were visiting along with the Baron of Montagu. He mentioned that there was something odd about the tone of the letter and upon examining the letter myself, I can attest that while the letter itself was innocent, the way the Marquess of Dorset wrote it, seemed to be as if he was highlighting that guests of his were the Dowager Princess' supporters," Cromwell explained.

He had been surprised when he had received this letter from Thomas More, knowing that they were not friends and their religious beliefs made them enemies.

However, he could guess that the former Lord Chancellor was remembering how he had not reported Chapuys' words, allowing that man to conspire against Queen Anne. This time, Thomas More was covering himself by reporting what could be another deadly conspiracy especially when one of those men was married to King Henry's niece.

"Say on," Henry encouraged, certain Cromwell would not have just ignored Thomas More's warning.

"I have spies in each of their households and while my spies have not uncovered much evidence, they have reported that there have been frequent meetings between them especially lately," Cromwell explained.

"I want you to send men to question them. We won't put anyone under house arrest other than the people listed in More's letter," Henry ordered.

He would end this before it spiraled out of control. But if things did get worse, he would have to make sure his family was protected. He refused to lose anyone else.

"God will protect us," Cromwell declared as if he could read the red-haired monarch's thoughts.

* * *

Sir Thomas More was in his study, working on a draft of his second book. As he was banished from court and no one wanted a lawyer who the King was angry with, he decided to start another book like his _Utopia. _

Suddenly he heard a commotion downstairs and his wife called up to him to come down right away. Hearing his wife sounding so panicked, Thomas made haste down the stairs, fearing he already knew what was waiting for him.

He had heard of the uprising and he knew that eventually the rebels would find the way to his door. After all, everyone knew he was Catholic to the core and one of the only men unafraid to speak up for Queen Katherine even when those who supported her were either dead or too scared to speak out.

Out of the group of seven armed men, Thomas recognized three: Thomas Percy, Henry Grey and Henry Pole. It seemed that he had been right to suspect a conspiracy. He could only hope that Cromwell had heeded his warning.

"My lords, why have you come barging into my home with your weapons out?" Thomas inquired, glancing at his wife, son-in-law and daughter, making sure that they were unharmed.

"Forgive us, Sir Thomas but we require your services," the Baron of Montagu explained politely. "We need you to come with us."

"If you expect me to join you in a plot against the King, I am afraid I will not do so," Thomas declared.

"The King has been bewitched by the Boleyns and Cromwell. Surely you will help us protect the daughter of the true Queen of England so she may succeed her father and return England to the flock of Rome," the Marquess of Dorset entreated him.

Thomas More frowned, angered that they dared act as if they were going to protect Mary instead of use her against her father.

"I do wish for England to return to the Flock of Rome but I will not commit treason to do so," he proclaimed earnestly. "Nothing good will come of what you are planning. Thank of your families, my lords, I beg of you. They will suffer if you are killed as traitors to the crown."

"If you are not with us, Sir Thomas, than you are the traitor," Thomas Percy snarled, his sword pointed to Thomas' neck.

"My lord, please, you are a good and pious man. You know that things are wrong with England. Queen Katherine was a sainted lady and her daughter should be a Queen Regent, not shackled to Lutheran King," Henry Pole spoke again his tone gentle, stepping in front of Thomas Percy so he would put down his sword.

"And who will Princess Mary's husband be? Your brother or perhaps the Marquess of Dorset's brother or are you planning on using the Earl of Lincoln in your plot?" Thomas More asked, wondering if these men took him for a fool. "I'm sorry, my lords, while I disagree with many of the King's decisions, he is my King and his son is legitimate in the eyes of the Pope and God so I will not go against my conscience and plot against them."

"Then you leave us no choice but to take you by force," Henry Grey declared, snapping his fingers so his men would grab Thomas.

"NO!"

William Roper had always been a good son-in-law, almost like a second son to Thomas and despite their differences in religion, the feeling had been mutual.

With a dagger in hand, William attacked one of the men trying to size Thomas. Of course this made Thomas Percy come to the men's aide, fully prepared to run William through with his sword.

_Was it suicide to step in front of a sword aimed at his son-in-law's back?_ Thomas pondered as the sword pierced his stomach. _No, I am protecting my son as any noble father would. Which is why I know the rebellion is doomed from the start. King Henry will kill them all to protect his son._

Thomas More crumpled to the floor as his daughter rushed to his side.

"Murderers!" Alice shouted at the men who were now fleeing from the house save for the two William had managed to subdue. "MURDERERS!"

"To think, I could have died a martyr," Thomas rasped, his lungs feeling heavy. "Instead I die a sentimental fool." _At least I can die with a clear conscious. _


	15. End of an Era

**_July 8 1536 _**

Two days after the murder of Sir Thomas More, the news had spread throughout England, causing many people who had raised their voices in support of the pilgrims to fall silent and shut their doors and windows, essentially turning their backs to the men just days ago they agreed with when they called out against the King's policies.

Thomas More was known to be a good and honest Catholic man who was also a loyal supporter of Queen Katherine. For him to be murdered by the leaders and benefactors of the Pilgrimage of Grace had disillusioned many to their cause. Even among the rebels themselves there was some discontent.

It fell to Robert Aske to keep their numbers (which were large but certainly not large enough nor skilled enough to stop a royal army) from decreasing.

"According to the Marquess of Dorset, Sir Thomas More's death was a tragic accident that was never meant to occur," he began.

"Of course he would say that," Francis Bigod snapped. He was not a Catholic like many of the rebels. He was a Lutheran but he still protested against the monasteries being closed. "He knows that Sir More is a loyal and pious man. His death has done nothing but make us look like bloodthirsty savages. I would like to remind you gentlemen that I signed up to save the religious houses the Crow Cromwell is trying to destroy. I have nothing against the Act of Succession nor the King himself."

There was some grumbling of agreement as Prince George was loved by many of the people and they all feared what might happen if they allowed Princess Mary to rise to the throne, only to be led by her husband and his ambitious family or worse she would make England her dowry to a foreign king.

"If we want the King to listen to us, we must have faith in the Marquess and his allies. Sir Thomas More's death was a tragic accident that we all morn but that does not mean our cause is not just," Aske declared passionately.

Besides they had gone too far to falter now. God willing, the King would see sense and return England back to the flock of Rome before it was too late.

"What of the Queen?" a voice in the crowd called. "It is well known that Queen Anne has spoken out against Cromwell's plans for religious houses and that King Henry has given her some church land which she has used for the betterment of the people."

"If it weren't for the Lady Anne, the King would never have forsaken the true religion in the first place," the baron Darcy snarled disdainfully, ignoring the looks of anger being shot his way for refusing to use Anne Boleyn's proper title.

Although Queen Katherine was still loved, the English people as a whole had gotten used to calling Anne their Queen and now they reacted with just as much outrage as they did when it was Katherine being disrespected.

"This is not about Queen Anne or the legitimacy of her children but about good King Henry being led astray by foul men who call themselves his loyal advisors," Aske said firmly. "We must not lose sight of our goal. We must continue fighting for the good of England."

It didn't matter whether George or Mary took the throne so long as they followed the true religion but the only way to do that was to make sure that wicked men like Cromwell and Cranmer were sent packing.

* * *

**_July 9 1536 _**

"I'm afraid Lady Alice More confirmed that the men in charge of the group who invaded her home were in fact Sir Thomas Percy, the Baron of Montagu and the Marquess of Dorset and it was Percy who wielded the sword that killed Sir Thomas More. The men's whereabouts are unknown as of yet. However, I have already sent summons to the Earl of Northumberland to answer for his brother's crimes," Cromwell reported.

Henry scowled as he thought about the men responsible for Thomas' death (Percy might have been the actual killer but as far as he was concerned all three men had contributed to the murder of his old teacher). All three men were nothing more than vile rodents; vermin he would love to exterminate. For all his problems with Thomas, that noble man had not deserved to die so brutally.

"And the uprising?" Henry asked, his face as dark as a storm cloud, his eyes flashing like lighting.

"Well their numbers haven't diminished but they have not swelled either as the murder of Sir Thomas More has made most of the general population weary of them," Cromwell explained.

That made sense as Thomas More was know to be a pious Catholic with a strong conscience, loyal to a fault. For the rebels to murder him showed just how vicious and violent they were. Their cause nothing more than a smokescreen to mask their bloodthirsty ways.

"What of Dorset's wife and the rest of the Poles, have they been apprehended?" Henry asked coldly. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Charles flinch at the mention of Frances. Although it pained him to know that his niece was involved, it was much worse for Charles as she was his beloved daughter.

"Ursula Pole has arrived to court out of her own free will and has declared herself loyal to Your Majesty. The Countess of Salisbury and her sons have hidden themselves away with the traitor Montagu. As for Lady Frances, she was found at her estates and I have taken the liberty of moving her to the tower for questioning," Cromwell informed him calmly.

"Is that necessary? My daughter is married to a traitor that is true but there is no evidence to say that she's a traitor herself," Charles protested.

"My spies have reported that every time Lord Grey meet with Lady Salisbury, Baron Montagu and Sir Percy, she would join them so it is unlikely she did not know what they are up to even if she didn't contribute directly," Cromwell said with sigh. He took no pleasure telling Suffolk that his daughter was a traitor especially when the girl was the King's own niece.

"I want to be there when you question the Marquess of Dorset," the Duke of Wiltshire spoke up, his fury written all over his ace.

"Why? So you can intimidate her into confessing something false," Suffolk accused him, spinning around to glare at the older man.

"With all due respect, Your Grace, if she's innocent, I don't think me being there will be a problem," Thomas Boleyn drawled, his lips curled up in a sneer. "Furthermore the reason I want to be there is because I want to know just what she was planning to do about my daughter and my grandchildren."

"Do you think that's what this is about?" Henry questioned, his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. As far as he knew the rebellion was about the religious reforms that were happening but no one was speaking out against the act of succession.

Even though it had taken the English people some time to warm up to Anne, the royal children were beloved by them even during those few months when Annette was the only child. They cheered loudly when George and his siblings were seen in public calling out blessings to the sweet princes and bonny princesses.

When Chapuys and Brereton were arrested and executed for their crimes, the common people had decried them as villains and madmen, seeking to destroy innocent lives. The two men had tried to defend their actions at their respective executions but the crowd's fierce shouting had drowned out their words.

"The fact that these people decided to act after Princess Mary's marriage was announced makes me certain it has something to do with them," Thomas answered, his tone colored by outrage that Henry doubted was feigned.

"I must concur with Wiltshire, while the rebellion itself is against the Ten Articles, the fact that all four conspirators were for the late Dowager Princess of Wales makes me suspect that they are looking to make Princess Mary your true heir and perhaps marry her off to one of their relatives," Cromwell agreed, his expression pensive.

"In that case we should make sure that Princess Mary is under close guard just to be sure that no one tries to take her," Henry decided, glad that he had not sent any of his children away, making sure that anyone who would try to do them harm would have to go through him first. It might also be prudent to send guards to the Clifford's manor to protect his younger niece and some to Suffolk just in case the Earl of Lincoln was in danger of being abducted.

"Should I send for Eleanor and Hal?" Charles asked, guessing his friend's worries.

"No, I will send guards but I don't want to risk my niece and nephew being abducted on their way to court," Henry told him before turning to Cromwell and Wiltshire. "The two of you go speak to Lady Dorset. I want a thorough interrogation to be made, she is not to get any special treatment just because she's my niece."

Even if Cromwell was tempted to go easy on Frances, he knew that Wiltshire was not, not when her dealings were against his daughter and grandchildren.

Once Wiltshire and Cromwell had left, Suffolk dared to speak. He knew his daughter was in a great deal of a trouble and the fact that the King had all but stated she was to be treated like any subject suspected of treason made his blood freeze.

"Your Majesty," he began, struggling to find the words. He didn't want it to seem like he was excusing Frances' actions but at the same time, he needed to try and save his daughter from the chopping block. Surely as a father himself Henry would understand his motives.

His desperation and concern must have shown on his face as Henry let out a heavy sigh before speaking: "I will not execute my niece, Charles. She will either remain in the Tower of London or be sent to a convent for the rest of her days."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Charles said, managing a weak smile. "For what it's worth, I am truly aghast at what her husband has involved himself in and the fact that she knew about it and failed to report it. Neither her mother nor I would ever approved of her actions."

"I can only imagine the fury my sister would have shown at the knowledge that her daughter was involved in a plot against me and my children," Henry remarked with a mirthless laugh. "Do they really think Mary or even Katherine would have approved of a scheme against the King of England?"

"Sometimes grudges can blind a person," Charles quipped, knowing full well he was among those who could be blinded. However he would never commit treason especially when he knew Mary would be reluctant to go along with it.

Although he would never come to like Wiltshire or Norfolk, he had to admit that for better or worse, Queen Anne possessed a good heart and her son was well on his way to becoming a good king.

Perhaps it wouldn't be the world's worst idea for him to agree to a marriage between one of Ormond's daughters and the Earl of Lincoln. Considering the scrutiny his children would be under after Frances' betrayal was well known, it would perhaps be prudent to have his son married to the Queen's niece.

He might need her protection one day.

* * *

In Mary's apartments, she was receiving an audience from Lady Stafford who seemed desperate to distance herself from the treason her mother and brothers had gotten themselves involved in. Considering her maternal uncle, her husband's father and grandfather were executed for treason it was understandable she would be worried about protecting her reputation as it would reflect on her husband and children not to mention it could mean her death as well.

"Mother knows you don't want to part of any treason but she's convinced that she has to save you from marrying a Lutheran king," Ursula Stafford explained. "My brother seems to think you are the only one who can save England from hearsay."

"And I suppose him being the brother of the next King of England would just be a bonus," Mary said sarcastically. Even if she were to understand the motives of the so-called Pilgrimage of Grace, like many other good Catholics, they lost her sympathy the moment they attempted abduct Thomas More and then killed him when he refused to comply.

Although nobody had mentioned who Mary would marry if she did succeed her father, she was certain that it would have to be someone who had just as much of a right to the English throne as she did, making their claim stronger. She also knew that aside from the Earl of Lincoln and the Earl of Devon-who were much too young to be married, Cardinal Reginald Pole was the only other unmarried male heir of the house of Plantagenet even though he was a member of the clergy.

"Your Highness must believe me, I had no part in my family's schemes. I swear on my children's lives that I am loyal subject," Ursula declared passionately.

Mary couldn't help but think that those involved with the rebellion also believed they were loyal subjects, freeing their country from heresy. However, in the end all they would end up doing was causing much blood to be shed.

George would be king one day, Mary had accepted that years ago, although she still hated that it came at the cost of her mother's status and reputation, she no longer held any delusions that she would ever rule England nor did she harbor any resentment over that fact.

"I believe you, my lady, but if you came here in hopes that I would speak to the King, I do not think I am the best person to do so," Mary said softly. It wasn't that her father didn't trust her but she was certain he would never listen to her if she begged for mercy for those who committed treason against his wife and heirs, even if she only asked for mercy for those people who only had her and her mother's interests in their hearts, seeking to undo the wrongdoing they suffered through no fault of their own. "But I can assure you that neither you, your husband nor your children will suffer for your mother and brothers' crimes."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Ursula said, looking as though she wanted to say more but she didn't dare to. It was clear by the look on her face that she wanted to beg for mercy on behalf of her mother and brothers, hoping to spare them from the punishment the King would must certainly give them once he caught them.

"You must forgive me for speaking frankly, Your Grace but I think Lady Salisbury and your brothers have made their own choices and if they want to continue down this path, they must accept the consequences that come with it," Mary pointed out, thinking that if nothing else, the death of Sir Thomas More should have given the conspirators pause, realizing what terribleness they had wrought and seek to make amends for their folly. Instead they continued to incite the rebellion, not to mention they had not turned in the man who had murdered More in cold blood.

There was nothing more to be said and the audience was soon ended with Ursula Stafford leaving, looking grimmer than she had when she arrived.

Mary decided to go to her chapel to pray that the misguided men and women of the Pilgrimage of Grace would get God's mercy as she knew they would not receive any mercy from the King.

* * *

**_July 10 1536 _**

_When would this nonsense end?_ Anne wondered.

She had been the Queen of England for nearly a decade by now. She had given birth to an heir, two spares and two beautiful little princesses. Lady Katherine, Princess Mary and even that pompous Emperor had accepted that George would one day become king after Henry. And still there were people wanted to tear her down, overturn all her good work and put Mary on the throne out of delusions that their champion didn't even believe in anymore.

"What if this never ends?" Anne asked, tossing her needlework aside. She couldn't concentrate on it anyway. "What if they continue to plot against me and my children when Henry dies? What if they never accept George on the throne?"

Several of Anne's ladies flinched at the mention of the king dying- a few even looking scandalized as it was treason to imagine the king's death. But even if they could take her to task for such a statement, they wouldn't as they knew her wild words came from fear that her children would constantly be in danger.

"Do not think like that, Anne," her sister implored her, reaching out to stroke her sleeve. "Soon this will be over and everything will go back to the way it was."

"That's what I thought the last three times," Anne pointed out irritably. "And then something worse happens."

"And yet you survived and you continued to thrive no matter what your enemies threw at you," Mary remarked, a smile tugging at her lips.

"As have you," Anne murmured, remembering how close she had come to losing Mary during that awful day in Surrey. "Perhaps you're right. God has protected my family from my enemies before and He will do so again."

"Everything will turn out right, Anne, you'll see," Mary promised her.

* * *

A page in the King's livery was admitted into the Queen's rooms an hour later, with a message from the King, summoning Anne to his apartments at once. Not wanting to make Henry wait, Anne immediately made her way to his chambers.

Henry was pacing around his audience chamber when she entered, a troubled expression on his face. Despite his angry mood, he still greeted her tenderly. However, this did little to sooth Anne's worries.

"What happened?" Anne asked. Were the rebels now demanding that Henry reinstate Mary over her half-siblings as his heir?

"My scouts inform me that the rebels have taken over Alnwick Castle and they are keeping the Earl and Countess prisoner," Henry explained, frowning. "Or at least that is what has been reported. You know His Grace better than I did, Anne. We already know his wife was party to the meetings her brother-in-law had with Dorset and Montagu. Is it possible that Northumberland is a traitor as well?"

Anne was slightly taken aback by her husband's question, surprised that he would make a mention of her past love. He never did like talking about men who were known to have courted her.

Not he ever treated Hal Percy or Thomas Wyatt badly-he even had knighted the latter the previous year.

"I cannot see Lord Percy willingly and knowingly taking part in treason," Anne responded. After all, if Hal couldn't go against his father's wishes to marry the woman he loved, Anne doubted he would betray his king. He was much too noble to do otherwise. Not to mention, Hal still cared for Anne and she doubted he would ever hurt her let alone plot against her and her children.

"I thought the same could be said for my niece," Henry said in almost a whisper.

Anne reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. She struggled for a moment to find the words to express her condolence at the betrayal of Henry's niece. Although, she could not claim to be close with the Brandon children, it still shocked her that Frances would betray her own flesh and blood let alone her monarch.

"I'm sure that in her heart, she thought she was doing the right thing," Anne told him. She winced slightly, feeling that had sounded better in her heard but once she had said them aloud, they seemed like a poor attempt to absolve the Marquess for her wrong doing.

"According to the report Cromwell made of his interrogation, Frances admits that she hoped Mary would marry either her brother or Cardinal Reginald Pole, believing that England would accept their Queen Regent if she married a Englishman of royal blood," Henry explained, wondering if his niece had shown any sign of regretting her treasonous actions. "She seems to think that will solve all of England's problems. Even if that had been the case when Mary was my only child, it's not now when we have George, Edward and Owen."

"Have the rebels demanded that Mary should be your heir over George?" Anne asked worriedly.

"Thankfully no," Henry answered, kissing each of her fingers in turn. "Don't you worry, my love, George is loved by his subjects. These rabble rousers have not been able to persuade anyone to turn against him and I will make sure to end them before they have a chance to do so."

"That's what worries me. That they have a chance," Anne admitted, her stomach turning over at the thought that her precious boy might be hated as she once was.

"Anne, do you trust me?" Henry inquired, smiling when she nodded immediately. "Then trust that I will put at end to this rebellion once and for all. No one will endanger our golden world."

* * *

Everyone tried to keep the children of the royal nursery ignorant of the events happening outside of court but no matter how careful the governesses were, keeping their charges happy and blissfully unaware, the children were able to sense the tension going on and Edward especially had a knack for learning things he was not supposed to know about.

When their governesses were busy with other tasks, the four children pretended to be admiring their baby brother when in reality they spoke in hushed whispers about the new piece of information Edward had stumbled on when two servants had not known he was listening to their conversation.

"The Baron Cromwell has been closing down momesaries-" Edward began.

"Monasteries," Annette corrected him, causing him to shoot her a dirty look for interrupting.

"-which angered someone people who also were upset by ten articles-" Edward continued.

"The Ten Articles," George interjected much to Edward's annoyance. "Bishop Cox told me all about it. It's a law that Papa put in place when he broke off from the Catholic Church."

"May I finish?" Edward demanded, his voice rising slightly. He glanced worriedly at Owen who was sleeping peacefully, not wanting to wake him and make him cry.

"Sorry, Ned, go on," George said gently.

"So a few days ago in Lincolnshire, a mob stopped our Papa's men from closing down a church and they are now making demands for Papa to stop all these changes," Edward finished. "And that's not all, I heard they also want Mary to be Papa's heir ahead of George."

"Why would they want that?" Elizabeth asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. She might not yet be three but she knew that even though Mary and Annette were older they still had to follow George, Edward and even Owen in the line of succession. She knew that was the way it always went hence why Aunt Margaret was the Queen of Scotland instead of England.

"Because they are Catholic," George snapped, a dark scowl on his face. "They think their religion is the true faith so they hate us because we are being raised Lutherans." He shivered as he remembered his father's groom. He wondered if the people who had attacked his mother in Surrey were also Catholic. It seemed that every person who followed the so-called true faith was violent and dangerous.

"George, Mary is Catholic as is Marguerite. Do you think they hate us?" Annette asked softly, as though she could read her brother's thoughts.

"No," George responded after a pause. Not only were Mary and Marguerite two of the kindest people he knew, he was also well aware that King Francis was Catholic and yet he remained a true ally to England despite the two countries violent history with each other.

"I don't understand why it would make a difference what religion they choose to follow. We all pray to the same God," Elizabeth pointed out, sounding far wiser than her age would suggest.

"It really says a lot when a two-year-old is smarter than a bunch of grown-ups," Annette quipped, smiling affectionately at her younger sister.

Edward snorted and even George could not help but chuckle despite himself.

* * *

**_July 15 1536_**

"How are you feeling, brother?" Thomas Percy asked mockingly, not at all caring that his older brother was on his deathbed.

"Well let's see: I am terminally ill with my doctor telling me I will be dead in less than a year, I am a prisoner in my own house that has been overrun by traitors and my younger brother is a murderer," Hal snarled. "How do you think I'm feeling?"

"I would think you would watch your tongue. Thomas More's death was an accident and if you aren't careful, the same accident could happen to you," Thomas growled, his hand on his dagger.

"You have already brought shame to the great house of Percy and just when I think you can't get any lower you just threatened a dying man, your own brother," Alan Percy said coldly, standing by Hal's bedside, acting like a guard, ready to protect his nephew if his younger nephew tried to carry out his threat.

"He deserves it, Uncle, he is a fool. Instead of continuing our late father's dynasty, he just decided to mope over a heretical whore who was clearly just after power," Thomas jeered.

"DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK OF ANNE THAT WAY!" Hal bellowed, shooting upwards and trying to climb out of the bed. Unfortunately he succumbed to a fit of coughs and collapsed onto the floor much to his uncle's worry and his brother's disgust.

"You are a weak man, brother and once we have put the Princess Mary on the throne of England, I shall have you stripped of your titles and thrown out onto the streets," Thomas Percy sneered before storming out of the bedchambers.

"He is a delusional fool," Alan muttered as he helped his nephew back to bed. "That group of men downstairs don't have the skill let alone the numbers to counter the royal army. They will be slaughtered once the King's men reach the North."

"Even if they were to win, does he expect the Princess Mary to go along with something she knows will mean the ousting of her father and siblings if not their death?" Hal remarked, shaking his head. "And to think Father once called me a proud, presumptuous and unthrift waster."

"Your father never was a good judge of character," Alan agreed. In his opinion Mary Talbot was a spoiled and conniving shrew while Anne Boleyn had the charm and wit that was fitting of a Countess. However, his brother was just as proud as he accused his son of being and therefore he had refused to even consider that a knight's daughter-albeit the granddaughter of a duke-was better than a daughter of an earl.

"Uncle, if the King's army should try to storm Alnwick Castle, will you do me a favor?" Hal pleaded, keeping his voice low so the guards outside his bedchamber could not overhear and tell their masters what Hal was saying.

"Of course, dear nephew, whatever you need for me to do," Alan replied, assuming Hal would want him to speak up for him should the King's men try to arrest him. After all, Hal was far too ill to protest his own innocence.

"Let them in," Hal told him coolly.

Alan nodded understanding what Hal meant. The rebels would try to keep the King's army from entering the castle, using cannons and archers to attack the solders. However, there was a secret entrance that would allow the solders to take the rebels by surprise. And despite what Thomas might think, Hal was still the master of his castle, therefore even if Alan was loathe to betray his own flesh and blood despite him being a traitor, Alan was still duty bound to listen to Hal.

* * *

**_July 18 1536 _**

King Henry wasn't taking any chances. He had ordered that the nobility give him all the men-in-arms they could spare on such short notice.

There were more than a thousand rebels not including the men of the Marquess of Dorset and the Baron Montagu but the army of King Henry was made up of at least ten thousand men. Enough to destroy the entire North of England if they had risen up with the traitors.

Luckily despite the frequent entreaties of the Pilgrimage of Grace, there were no one else willing to join them either out of disgust towards Thomas More's death or out of fear of the consequences.

According to a spy in Alnwick Castle, it seemed that the rebels themselves were getting nervous. God willing they would surrender the moment they saw the royal army storming towards them.

Despite it being early in the morning, Northumberland seemed to be devoid of life. The windows of houses and stores were barred shut with no one daring to even peek out. Although they had to know that the army was for the rebels in the castle, it seemed that the people in Northumberland were still frightened that if they stepped out of their homes they would be captured and killed for treason even though they had no choice but to allow the men of the rebellion to stay in their lord's castle.

They were not the only ones afraid they would be killed for no reason than knowing traitors.

The Earl of Shrewsbury had been aghast when Frances Brandon had named his daughter as one of the conspirators. Not only did he disown her but he also raised his army to add to number of the King's soldiers.

The Duke of Suffolk had volunteered to led the King's army as they took over Alnwick Castle and he had spoken to the Duke of Wiltshire of drafting a marriage agreement between the Earl of Lincoln and one of George's daughters.

It seemed that everyone was living on the edge, afraid that the King might turn his terrible fury onto them once he was done with the rebels who dared to make demands of him, killed his old friend and tried to deny his son's birthright.

In George's opinion, the faster this sordid affair was over with the better. God willing once those who were involved were executed for their crimes, everything could go back to normal. Where the only plotter George had to deal with on a daily basis was his father.

When they arrived at Alnwick Castle they were greeted by cannon fire and flaming arrows. Their attackers seemed to think that because they were behind fortified walls that they had nothing to fear from a great army.

Well in their defense, it would have taken a long time for the King's army to counterattack and use the catapults to take down the walls that surrounded the castle. Not to mention losing their men in the meantime.

Thankfully, with the intel Francis had gathered from a servant of Alan Percy, the Earl of Shrewsbury's men were would be able to enter the castle and take it from inside while the rest of the army kept them distracted.

It would all be over soon and in less than a fortnight, George would return to Hever Castle where he would be greeted by his wife and wonderful children.

"Return fire!" George shouted as he held his shield over his head to block the arrows raining down on him. "Keep them on their toes men. Do not let them rest for even a moment."

"For the King of England!" a man shouted as he cut the rope of the catapult, allowing the projectile to fly towards the castle, smashing into the wall.

* * *

**_July 30 1536 _**

Henry supposed he should be glad that the rebellion had began and ended in a little under a month. However, the bloodshed did not end at the taking over the castle. It would not just be the leaders who died. No, Henry intended to make a strong statement and every man who had taken part in the Pilgrimage of Grace would be executed.

His niece Frances, Mary Talbot and Geoffroy Pole would remain in the Tower of London for the rest of their days as they only had knowledge of the rebellion and willingly provided evidence against the other conspirators. But no one else would receive any mercy.

Mary had pleaded with him to at least spare Lady Salisbury, reminding him what a good governess she had been to her and her only fault was believing that Mary needed to be rescued from her marriage to the King of Sweden.

As much as her words had broken Henry's heart-and he suspected a small part of his daughter blamed herself for the rebellion-he was adamant that he could not show any mercy to a woman who clearly proved to be just as dangerous as her father and brother.

Hopefully after the executions, that would be the end of it. Hopefully by the time his son became king, there would be no more delusional people desperately trying to return to England to the Bishop of Rome. Hopefully George would be the king of a golden age.


	16. Long Live the King

**One of the reasons I decided to repost this story on Fanfiction is because I longed to part of that exclusive group of authors whose stories contained more than 100k words. The other reason is of course for those who don't go to Archive of Our Own but seriously guys, 1000,000 words is a new record for me so I am very pleased with myself. **

* * *

**_October 9 1546_**

The Prince of Wales had come a long way since he was a shy child, never liking the attention he got, embarrassed by people constantly fawning over him. Now he proudly waved at the common folk as he and Marguerite rode towards London, reveling in their good wishes and praise.

Although they shouted blessings for him and Marguerite, George couldn't help but think the cheers were solely intended for their son who was named for both of their fathers and their older brothers.

Prince Henry Francis had turned a year-old last July and despite not being old enough to attend, a lavish banquet was thrown in his honor.

The crowd of common folk followed the royal carriages to the gates of Greenwich, still cheering loudly as the carriages came to stop at the great lawn where King Henry and his court stood waiting.

George helped Marguerite out of the carriage, waiting for their son to be put in her arms before they made their way to King Henry.

"We are pleased to have you home again, Your Highnesses," the red-haired monarch proclaimed, a smile parting his wrinkled cheeks.

"As are we, Your Majesty," George replied, studying his father worriedly, wondering if it was just his imagination that despite being imposing as he always was, the king seemed rather tired looking as if he had barely been able to muster enough energy to walk outside and greet his son.

If King Henry wasn't feeling well, he did not intend on letting it show as he threw his arm around George, leading him inside the castle, asking question after question about how George was faring in Wales.

Just for a moment, George felt as though he was a boy again, being doted on by his beloved Papa, unaware that those carefree days would soon be over.

* * *

"Mary, am I a vain woman?" Anne asked playfully once she and her ladies were in the privacy of the queen's apartments. "As much as I love Henry Francis, I can't help but wince every time someone refers to me as his grandmother."

Despite her words, Anne couldn't help but smile thinking of that precious little angel who had such pinchable cheeks and a gummy little smile that could melt the hardest of hearts.

She remembered her elation when she learned that her daughter-in-law was pregnant, almost ten years after the last of George's siblings were born. She had also felt melancholy as becoming a father would be an undeniable sign that her baby was no longer a child but a man.

"Nay, sweet sister. You, like most people, do not like the reminder that you are growing older," Mary assured her as she fixed her sister's hair. "As overjoyed as I was when Cathy gave birth to her firstborn, I remember feeling so very old when little Henry called me Granny for the first time."

"To be young again," Anne said with a sigh. Speaking of being young: in the mirror's reflection, she caught sight of her cousin trying to sneak into her chambers unseen. Anne watched as Kitty kept glancing over at her, unaware that her mistress could see her and then she darted to an empty chair, clearly intending to make it seem as though she had been there the entire time. Anne decided to wait a few minutes, allowing Kitty to feel a measure relief before shattering her illusion that she had successfully tricked her royal mistress: "Mistress Howard, my ladies were supposed to accompany me back to my apartments before court reconvened in an hour. Did something cause you to lose your way?" she asked sternly, still not turning around, mostly so Kitty could not see the amusement in her eyes or the fact that she was fighting a smile.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I was catching up with a friend," Kitty told her, her cheeks pink and her eyes low, obviously feeling guilty for lying to her older cousin who she loved and admired. "It won't happen again."

Anne exchanged a knowing smirk with her sister. Whenever George visited court, Kitty seemed to always be in the company of one of his grooms, whether it was a dance or a stroll in the gardens.

Having become extremely fond of her cousin and having already been fond of her suiter since the day she met him at the orphanage, Anne wanted nothing more than to see that the two lovebirds see each other more often.

"Well I certainly hope not for your tardiness, I might have to ask Princess Margot if she will take you in her household," Anne remarked, still pretending to be admonishing Kitty.

When Norfolk had first brought Kitty to court, Anne had been ready to treat her cousin no differently from her other ladies, unwilling to be lenient on her if she found her conduct lacking. However not only did Kitty's sweet and somewhat naive nature make her endearing, Anne had been aghast at what Kitty had to endure from both their step grandmother and her teacher at Lambeth. Anne had come to see Kitty as something as daughter and it was a mutual feeling as Kitty looked horrified at Anne's words.

However as Kitty opened her mouth to protest, realization dawned on her and if possible her cheeks turned pinker. "If that is Your Majesty's wish, I shall strive to make you proud," she said sweetly.

Anne beamed at the girl, knowing that Kitty looked up to her as a mentor of sorts and she had no intention of letting her down. Although she was certain her uncle would not be pleased by his niece marrying a baseborn, she would make sure to provide the young couple with whatever they needed to start their lives.

She would not let Kitty go through the years of uncertainty she had once faced, waiting to see if she could marry the man she loved, knowing that there were those who would do everything in their power to put obstacles in their way.

And although Anne had no regrets, Kitty and Andrew deserved an easier road to happiness.

"To be young and in love again," Anne whispered as she recalled the stolen moments behind closed doors and the love letters that would remain locked in a box beneath her bed.

* * *

**_October 12 1546 _**

"You look beautiful," George whispered in his wife's ear, nuzzling her. "You always look beautiful but in the light of the morning you look almost divinely lovely."

"Such poetic words will turn me into a vain woman, my lord," Margot teased, stroking his cheek.

"Perhaps but I cannot help myself," George told her before grinning wolfishly. "As I recall that was why our son was conceived because I could not stay away from you." His smile became broader as the woman in his arms giggled and turned red at his thinly-veiled innuendo.

"And to think the first time we lay together, you looked terrified," Margot laughed, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"It helped that you were so patient with me despite my fumbling," George said, not at all offended by her scrutiny. It wasn't as though he could deny it and besides, he knew Margot would never have humiliated him by telling anyone else about the awkward consummation of their marriage.

"It was my first time too, Georges, I was nervous as well. I just managed to hide it better than you. After all, being older doesn't mean I was more experienced," Margot remarked before her expression became horrified as the implication of those words dawned on her.

"Well I would hope not!" George exclaimed, struggling to keep an appropriately scandalized look on his face before he dissolved into laughter.

"Older also doesn't mean wiser," Margot jested, burying her face into George's chest again, struggling to contain her own laughter.

* * *

Since Lady Bryan's retirement, the royal children's household had been split up as all of them were well past the age of six and they each had their own set of companions.

Elizabeth had not minded it too much especially when she had permanent lodgings at court. However, she did miss seeing her brothers and sister as often as she had when they were in Eltham together.

She didn't really just how much she missed her siblings until Edward arrived with a bunch of pastries and other goodies tucked away in a basket and Elizabeth was immediately reminded of how Edward had made it his mission to sneak away from their governesses to sneak down to the kitchen. He used to declare that he only did it to prove he could and getting treats for himself and his siblings was only a bonus.

"Annette will not be pleased," Elizabeth remarked as she selected a pasty from the basket.

"She won't be upset if she never finds out," Edward countered, grinning mischievously as he offered the treats to Owen as well.

As the middle child, Edward was close to all four of his siblings, spending just as much time with Owen and Elizabeth as he did with Annette and George. He was often the one lifting their spirits and making them laugh. He prided himself as being the one who brought George out of his shell despite being three years younger than him.

"That is true, Elizabeth, I certainly won't be telling her anything," Owen put in as he took a big bite out of his pastry.

"Well what if I tell her?" Elizabeth teased having no intention of ever doing so.

Edward smirked, knowing his sister's weakness. "Well if you tell on me, Lisbeth, I will never visit you again and if I don't visit you than a certain Master Dudley will not be visiting you either," he pointed out smugly.

Elizabeth glared at him but didn't say a word which was all the confirmation her brothers needed.

* * *

Princess Annette was not pleased. She was furious and struggling hard to not let it show as she sewed. She reminded herself that she was not a child and besides even if she were to throw a tantrum, her father was capable of throwing a bigger one.

Although she prided herself in being a dutiful daughter, she still found it galling to be forced into an arranged marriage to a man whose country had caused her parents no end of headaches.

"Prince Philip and his father think my mother is a whore and that I am a daughter of a whore. How could Father ask me to marry him, knowing how they will treat me?" Annette complained, stilling reeling from the conversation she had with King Henry less than an hour.

The red-haired monarch had informed Annette that he was currently in negotiation with the Holy Roman Emperor for a marriage between her and Phillip of Spain, expecting her to be pleased that he was in the process of securing such a good match for her, after years of disappointment after disappointment.

After the Dauphin Francis' death, Annette had been engaged to the Crown Prince of Portugal and then when he died, she was betrothed to Duke Charles of France until he died. So had it been any other bridegroom other than the arrogant and pompous Spanish Prince, Annette would have been relived that she was not to become a spinster with no crown on her head.

Feeling particularly angry, she voiced that last thought out loud as she jabbed her needle quite violently into the fabric she was stitching.

"How do you know that he is arrogant and pompous?" Jane Boleyn asked, an skeptical eyebrow raised.

"Because he's Spanish, Catholic and everyone knows his family hates my mother," Annette snapped.

It had taken her a long time to learn of the Great Matter and once she had, she began to wonder if people were really paying her a compliment when they said she was so much like her mother or they still derided Anne Boleyn as a Godless heretical strumpet and they believed that Annette was just like her.

"You say that he will be making assumptions about you but aren't you doing the same to him," Jane pointed out logically.

Annette glared at her cousin but did not argue as she could see the sense of her words even if she was certain that her gut feeling was correct.

"Perhaps you could write to your sister. I'm sure if she writes to her cousin, saying how happy she is that you will be marrying Prince Phillip, he wouldn't treat you unkindly," Marian suggested.

"I'm sure Mary would write to them anyway but I doubt that her word is going to have any effect on whether or not he treats me kindly," Annette said, a ghost of a smile on her face as she thought of her beloved older sister.

Despite being gone from England for the past ten years, Mary and Annette had remained close, writing to each other whenever they had a moment to spare. Mary had named Annette godmother of her daughter Katrina.

The thought of Mary quelled Annette's anger and gave her a feeling of sadness, knowing that her sister would have jumped at the chance to marry Phillip not just because he was the great-nephew of her mother but also because it would mean she could live in her mother's homeland.

But instead Mary became the Queen of Sweden and despite her misgivings, she had done so without a word of defiance. And Annette would do no less.

* * *

**_October 29 1546 _**

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Andrew asked, feeling very insecure. As it ridiculous as it was, he couldn't help but think that when Kitty saw the place he had spent half of his life, she would have second thoughts accepting his proposal.

Oh dear God, she had accepted his proposal. She was his fiancée. He had still been unable to believe that Lady Katherine Howard, granddaughter of a duke had agreed to marry him, a man who would still be a penniless orphan if it weren't for the Queen and her brother's kindness along with the Earl of Essex's mentorship.

"I wouldn't have asked to come along if I didn't want to, silly," Kitty giggled, either unaware of his insecurities or just unwilling to even acknowledge them. She kissed his cheek as they entered the orphanage and were greeted by Mistress Brown who despite walking with a cane, was still as kind and warm as she had been all those years ago.

When Andrew had first visited the orphanage years after he had left, he had been worried that he might be treated differently and he almost cried in relief when instead of curtsying as she would with anyone else ranked higher than her, Mistress Brown had immediately pulled him into a hug and quizzed him on how he was doing.

"Goodness, I had hoped you would stop growing eventually but you seem determined to bump your head on the ceiling," Mistress Brown teased him before she noticed the Queen's ladies who had brought baskets for clothes, blankets and food to be donated to not only the orphanage but the various poorhouses and hospitals. "I hope you're not just here for business, Andrew, because it has been too long since we've seen you and I demand at least an hour of your time."

"You know I could never say no to you, Miss Mathilda," Andrew laughed. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Kitty sending him an expectant look. "It would give me some time to introduce my fiancée, Mistress Katherine Howard."

Mistress Brown glanced at Kitty and her eyes widened when she realized that the lady Andrew was indicating was clearly a woman of noble birth. She became even more taken aback when Kitty hugged her, declaring that any family of Andrew's was family to her.

Seeing this made Andrew feel a lot less insecure. It wasn't until Kitty jested that being around children would be good practice did he start to feel nervous again.

* * *

As it was only three days before the Prince of Wales' birthday and All Saints day, the court was filled with excitement with people chattering excitedly about the festivities that were planned for the doubly special day.

Henry and Anne sat on their thrones, watching as the various couples danced with each other. He noticed that while Owen was dancing with Annette, Edward seemed to have decided to dance with Mary Dudley, forcing his sister to dance with Robert Dudley instead. Although oddly, Elizabeth did not look put out in the least.

He smiled at the sight of Kitty and Andrew dancing, making a mental note to tell Cromwell he wanted to make the young knight a baron in the near future. Although Norfolk knew better than to object to the young couple's marriage as the King had given his permission for them to marry, he still thought it would be nice to make sure the bright boy could not be accused of being too lowborn for the niece of a duke.

The king's smile only brightened at the sigh of his soon-to-be eighteen-year-old son dancing with his wife. It could not be denied that Georgie was head over heels in love with his wife and she was with him. He just hoped that it would not turn out like Henry and Katherine but be like him and Anne.

Speaking of Anne, Henry could see by the look on her face that she was itching to dance but for fear of offending her husband whose doctor had cautioned him on doing too many exhaustive activities, she'd seek out another dance partner, deciding instead to remain at her husband's side.

Hating feeling like an old man and wishing to recapture the early days of their courtship, Henry got up and offered Anne his arm.

"Come dance with me, my love," he implored her.

"Henry-" Anne began, glancing at him worriedly as if she feared he might topple over right then and there.

"No, no. I am an old man, Anne, one who has so very few pleasures left he can enjoy. Let us pretend to be young and carefree, just for tonight," he pleaded.

"All right, my love. If you feel up to it," Anne agreed.

Had their children not been in attendance, Henry would have demanded that Mark Smeaton played a volta.

In the end it did not matter, for dancing with Anne was enough to bring back memories of those intimate passion filled dances they shared together.

However their moment of bliss did not last long for the red-haired monarch felt a tightness around his heart and suddenly it was becoming hard to breath. His vision was becoming spotty and the room seemed to spin until the floor came up to meet him.

"Henry!" Anne shouted as she knelt down beside him.

"Some quick, fetch a physician!" George shouted, joining his mother at his father's side. "Father, please stay with us."

* * *

**_January 28 1547_**

Henry was dying. He had no illusions of that. His health had started to fail him a year ago and when he had a heart attack almost four months ago, it had become obvious that he would not live to see the end of this decade. A fortnight ago, he had become too sick and weak to leave his bed and it became obvious to all that there would be a new King of England before the snow began to melt.

Although it broke the old king's heart to leave his loved ones behind, he couldn't help but be gladdened that he would die knowing that he had secured his dynasty and that his children would be well taken cared of.

Mary was now the Queen of Sweden and she had given birth to his grandchildren: Katrina, Cecilia and Johan. From her countless letters, Henry was aware that his pearl was happy and treated well in her new country.

Annette was engaged to the widowed Crown Prince of Spain, in hopes not to have England be influenced too much by the French as it was well known how the future King of England loved his French wife. Although Annette would have preferred to be the Queen of France, Henry was certain his sapphire would flourish just as much as the Queen of Spain.

As for his youngest daughter, Elizabeth, Henry had been rather lax in looking for a suitable husband for his ruby. She might be the third daughter but that did not mean she didn't deserve a marriage as grand as her sisters. Perhaps the Crown Prince of Denmark would be a good fit, making all of Henry's daughters queens.

The marriage agreement between Edward and the Archduchess Magdalena had been finalized after some years of back and forth between the Holy Roman Emperor and England. While Edward was certainly not in love or even as friendly with his bride-to-be, Henry hoped it would be a happy and fruitful match.

With Owen, Henry had wanted him to marry the infant Queen of Scots but her mother wanted her to be married to the Dauphin's son instead. Henry had made some attempts to change their mind but in the end, Cromwell had suggested the daughter of one of the German Princes instead.

Henry had always been afraid that he would leave his country in the hands of a child queen who would suffer at the hands of ambitious nobles seeking to control her. Thankfully George, for all his tender-heart, was not a child to be controlled nor a girl to be doubted.

The Prince of Wales was eighteen, only a year younger than his father had been when he took the throne. Unlike Henry, George had been training for kinghood since he was ten and he already had his heir.

Although Henry had wanted George to wait a year before consummating his marriage with Princess Marguerite, he found he could not condemn his son for not being able to resist temptation of a lovely princess especially when they were able to present a grandson who made up for their disobedience.

Even though Henry wasn't completely fond of the name they gave him, Henry Francis was the light of his grandfather's life and it hurt that he would not get to spend any more time with him.

As he lay on his bed, Henry thought back to twenty years ago when he and Anne were still waiting for permission to get married. He could never have guessed just what those twenty years would bring both the joy and the tragedies. He could never have guessed just how lucky he would get with his wife.

Anne and he had been through a lot together and while a part of him was sorry to leave her, another part of him envied her. She would get to see their son be king and watch their grandchildren grow up.

"Anne," he rasped, his hand squeezing the hand in his, knowing instinctively that it was hers. "It's the golden age, my love. We have done it."

His queen did not reply as she was struggling not to wail in grief. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she bent down to give him a final kiss.

Soon Henry's eyes fluttered closed as he let out his final breath, looking far more peaceful than he ever had in all fifty-five years of life.

"The King is dead, long live the King!"

* * *

**_January 31 1547 _**

**_Sweden _**

Her father was dead and Mary prayed for his soul. She pleaded with God to forgive his sins. Although she knew it was doubtful, she hoped that on his deathbed her father had renounced the false faith, declaring that he was a true Catholic in the end.

She also prayed that George would return England to the flock of Rome. Deep in her heart, she knew that was not to be either. The only one of her siblings who had embraced the Catholic faith was Annette and that was only because she admired Mary so much she wanted to emulate her, not to mention knowing that her future husband would demand it of her.

Mary could feel the tears trickling down her cheeks as she recited a prayer in Latin, taking advantage of being in her private chapel to be able to use the Catholic rites she would always take comfort in.

"Mama?" a young voice spoke softly.

The Queen of Sweden was surprised to see her five-year-old son behind her. His governess soon hurried in, explaining that Mary's ladies had told John that his mother was in her chapel but instead of waiting until she was done, John had decided that he wanted to see her now.

Mary assured John's governess that she was not upset and sent the woman away, deciding that she would feel better with John in her arms, his mere presence was already mending the hole her father's death had left in her heart.

"Mama, why are you sad? And why do you pray with those funny words?" John asked curiously.

"I'm sad because your grandpa King Henry passed away," Mary explained, deciding not to answer the later question. Although Gustav allowed her to practice her faith, he made it clear that she was not to influence their children to do the same. She wasn't even allowed to leave her mother's rosery or cross to her children in her will. Although she hoped she could convince one of her Swedish ladies who served her loyally to give them to her children who would keep them out of love to her if not because they believed in the true faith.

"Like Eric's mama," John clarified, being old enough to know that his older brother was not his full brother.

"That's right, sweetheart," Mary agreed, cuddling John close, kissing the top of his head.

"Is it true that when you were younger, you were going to be the Queen of England?" John asked, looking up at his mother with an almost shrewd look on her face.

"And who told you that?" Mary inquired, trying not to flinch at the memories her son's words brought out in her.

"Eric and I were being taught about succession laws and my tutor said that there was a time in England when you had no legitimate brothers so had Grandpa Henry not married again, you would have been Queen. I'm glad you weren't though," John said with a big smile on his face.

"Oh and why is that?" Mary asked, unable to keep the smile off her face as she knew exactly what her son was about to say.

"Because then you wouldn't have had me and I wouldn't be here to tell you I love you and you're the best Mama in the whole wide world," John replied. His eyes widened in horror when Mary started to cry again. "I'm sorry Mama. That wasn't supposed to make you sad, that was supposed to make you happy."

"No, no, sweetheart, I'm not sad. I'm crying because I'm happy that I have the sweetest little boy as my son," Mary gushed. For the first time, Mary was suddenly relived, instead of just resigned, that George succeeded their father instead of her. Because would never want to live in a world without her three precious children: Katrina, Cecilia and John.

* * *

**_February 6 1547 _**

**_England _**

Despite his father dying two years ago, George often found it bizarre to be called the Duke of Wiltshire and whenever someone would say Lord Wiltshire, he would assume that they were speaking about his father instead of him.

He wondered if his nephew and namesake felt the same way now that he was being called Your Majesty and everyone looked to him to make decisions.

To give his nephew credit, Georgie did not shrink from his duties, although he refused to move into the King's apartments or make his mother leave the Queen's apartments until the period of morning was over. But he still did not allow himself to wallow in grief, saying rather wisely that the world had not stopped moving just because a great king had died.

He called for a council to discuss the affairs of state, wanting to be sure that everything was going smoothly and there were no pressing matters that warranted his full attention.

"Our ambassador at the Imperial court reports that the Holy Roman Emperor is still hoping for a marriage between one of your sisters and his son. Furthermore, his niece will arrive in England once she has turned sixteen," Rich reported.

"I must admit I have my doubts of sending my sister to a Catholic country, one known to be especially harsh on those they believe are heretics," the young king remarked, frowning darkly.

It was well known that Georgie had come to distrust Catholics, agreeing full heartedly with Cranmer's assistance that the Catholic parts of his coronation ceremony should be removed.

Thankfully he was not at the point where he fanatically hated them.

"If I may be frank, Your Majesty," Cromwell began, waiting for the monarch to nod before he continued speaking. "While you and the rest of your siblings have leaned towards reformation, Princess Annette has always been more neutral. Not to mention her close sisterhood with the Queen of Sweden inspired her to learn Spanish along with French. She would make a fine queen of any country."

"Of course she would. She is my mother's daughter," King George jested, smiling for a minute before sobering. "Well if Annette has no objections to the match, we will continue the negotiations. Is there anything else my lords?"

"We have some proposals from various kingdoms, seeking the hands of not only Princess Elizabeth and Prince Owen but also Prince Henry-Francis," the Duke of Wiltshire explained, sorting through his notes.

"My son isn't even two. I think we can hold off a few years before finding a bride for him," George decided. Although his marriage had technically been arranged a year before he was even born, he thought it would be best to wait for a few years, giving him some time to find a bride befitting of his precious boy. "As for Elizabeth, I think we should look toward Sweden or Denmark for a groom. What of Owen though? I'd hate to have all my siblings' futures be secure except for his."

"I believe there are a few Italian and German nobles who would be willing to marry their daughters to your brother," the Earl of Southampton said with a wry grin.

"Good. I can only hope that my siblings' marriages will turn out as well as mine," George remarked, his eyes glowing with love as his thought became momentarily consumed with his queen.

* * *

**In this story John takes the place of his brother Magnus with Katrina and Ceclia being born first. Not that this extremely important but I have decided that only two of his other siblings will be born: Elizabeth and Charles. Also important history fact: John of Sweden was Catholic having being influenced by his wife who by the way was Mary's cousin.**  
**I was going to have Anne have another daughter named Margaret who would eventually marry either Mary's stepson or William the silent of the Nehterlands but I decided not to.**  
**The next chapter will focus more on the Tudor siblings. And of course we will be properly introduced to little Henry-Francis. Am I the only one who loves that name?**


	17. The Lion's Cubs

**Cookie for anyone who finds the Lion King reference. (I had to amend it a little).**

* * *

** _January 21 1551 _ **

The Duke of York would soon be a man of twenty years but he had not lost his childhood love of mischief. He enjoyed disguising himself as various folk characters, Robin Hood being his favorite. He threw masquerade balls almost once a month much to his wife's annoyance.

Infanta Magdalena of Austria was Edward's opposite in nearly every way. She was serious where he was playful. While Edward was more relaxed and open-minded about how members of his household acted, Magdalena was stricter.

However, despite their differences, their marriage was not unpleasant and they did care about each other even though there were things that annoyed them about each other.

"Be glad that you aren't married, Robin, for wives were only made to nag you for spending too much money and constantly reminding you that you have other duties besides dancing and jousting," Edward jested, not really meaning it. He supposed that having a masquerade ball every month was perhaps a bit extravagant but they were just so much fun. However Magdalena had a point and he knew that his wife, for all her stuffiness, had his best interests at heart.

"Oh? Do they not have any other use?" Robin asked, an eyebrow quirked as he smirked at the royal duke.

Edward grinned back. "I suppose you could say they warm your bed every so often," he agreed. "I would ask if you are seeking a bedmate but I have a feeling that I won't like the answer."

"And yet you choose to bring it up anyway. Bess would be appalled," Robin laughed, knowing that neither of them would dare to even mention this conversation to her.

"I shall not beat around the bush any longer, Robin, do you or do you not have any intentions to make an honest woman out of my sister?" Edward asked, choosing to do away with any sense of decorum or subtlety.

"Didn't you just tell me I was lucky not to be married," Robin pointed out, hoping very much that his friend wouldn't keep pressing the subject. Unfortunately, along with his need to partake in such extravagant pastimes, Edward had also inherited his father's stubbornness.

"Robert, answer me truthfully. I am tried of seeing you two pine after each other. Are you going to ask for Elizabeth's hand in marriage or not?" Edward demanded.

"I am the fourth son of a man who only gained his Earldom a few years ago, I'm not worthy of a princess and you know it," Robin said with a sigh. "She deserves better. She deserves to be a queen or an empress."

"Well of course she does," Edward agreed bluntly, causing his friend to shoot him a rather nonplussed look. "but she wants you and she's a Tudor; we always get what we want."

"You make it sound so simple but you forget that I would need your brother's permission."

"Pshaw. My Aunt Mary did not get my father's permission to marry the Duke of Suffolk and the worst he did was banish them for a little while," Edward told him. When Robert did not look convinced, Edward patted his back. "If it helps, I will shoulder most of the blame with George if you decide to elope."

"With all due respect, it did not," Robin deadpanned. After all, it wasn't Edward's head that would be in danger of being chopped off.

Edward sighed but decided to let the matter drop for now. After all, Elizabeth would be visiting for the next masquerade he was throwing and well their mother could attest that dances often led to romance.

* * *

** _February 16 1551 _ **

Pope Paul had died and his successor had reached out to King George in hopes that the young king could be coaxed into bringing England back to the flock of Rome. With the Earl of Essex's death the year before perhaps he thought it would be possible to do so now that Thomas Cromwell, who was blamed for most of the late King Henry's reforms was no longer whispering in George's ear. Or perhaps he thought that George's Catholic wife would convince him to return to the so-called true faith.

Unfortunately for the new Pope Julius, George saw his words as nothing more but proof that the vicar of Rome saw the kings of Europe as dogs who would do his bidding if he gave them a treat.

George tossed the Pope's letter in the fire without a second thought. The Catholic Church was nothing more than a hotbed of corruption and hypocrisy.

One of George's first acts was to send his men to inspect every "religious artifacts" to see if it was the real deal or not. If they were found to be nothing more than cheap trinkets used to fleece the common people, they were thrown upon a bonfire while the charlatans-in-priest clothing were fined and jailed.

However, he made an exception for Thomas Becket's bones, unwilling to desecrate England's beloved saint. He did however dismantle the shrine and buried the bones in a tomb, for all to visit if they desired.

Both Marguerite and Elizabeth pushed for him to be lenient to those who still practiced the Catholic faith. But with religious tension growing in Europe, George feared he would have another Catholic rebellion on his hands especially if the new Pope decided to excommunicate him.

George was not unaware that harsh punishment towards English Catholics would only cause them to be more willing to rebel. For all his zeal with the reformation, George would act with a softer touch when it came to religion, only executing those who tried to force the issue.

George's dark thoughts were interrupted when a page arrived in his wife's livery. He nodded as the man bowed, signaling for him to speak.

"Your Majesty, the Queen has gone into labor," he announced, looking truly sad to be passing on this news.

The King needed no more information than that and he made his way to the Queen's apartments as fast as he could, paying no mind to the courtiers who barely had anytime to get out of his way.

It was far too early for the child to be born. While it was true that George had been born prematurely as well. He had only been a month early while this child would be closer to three months premature.

After Henry Francis' birth, Marguerite and he had not been blessed with another child, with the queen suffering two miscarriages early on. Thankfully the new Prince of Wales continued to thrive but if he remained the only member of fourth generation of the Tudor dynasty, it would spell disaster for England.

George stood in the Queen's apartments for a little over an hour, waiting for news and he nearly accosted the royal physician when the man exited the birth chambers.

"Tell me what happened!" George demanded, terrified that he would lose two important people today.

"Your Majesty, forgive me, but the child is very sickly, she might not live long," Dr. Thomas Wendy informed him.

"And my wife? Is she well?" George asked before cursing himself for asking such a stupid question. Their daughter might not live. Of course she wasn't all right.

After finishing his interrogation of the royal physician, George walked into the birth chambers to comfort his wife.

* * *

"You'll prove them all wrong, my darling girl. You will get stronger and you will grow up to be a beautiful princess," Marguerite whispered, the desperation in her voices rang clear as tears dripped down her cheeks onto the baby's face.

George sat down next to her, half-afraid to touch his daughter in case she crumbled like something made of sand. "She is beautiful," he agreed, kissing the top of his wife's hair. "What shall we name her? I was thinking perhaps we should name her after her lovely mother." The only acknowledgement George got from his wife was a nod of her head as she bit her lips to avoid a sob escaping. He quickly wrapped his arms around her. "Sweetheart, please I beg of you, don't cry. The doctor said there is a chance she might live and she is the daughter of the strongest woman I know."

"What if she doesn't live? What if I never have a living child ever again? Will history repeat?" Marguerite wondered almost hysterically, clutching their daughter close to them as if she were a lifeline and she might drown if she let go.

"What do you mean history will repeat?" George asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. Surely she couldn't mean what he thought she meant. Even if he fell out of love with her- a concept he could hardly fathom- Henry Francis had secured her position as Queen of England. "My love, please tell me if I have given you some reason to think that."

"No, you haven't. Forgive me, I am emotionally as well as physically drained and I am speaking wildly," Marguerite answered, turning her head away. "But you must admit there are some similarities between the two situations. You are devoted to me now but who knows what will happen in twenty years. Perhaps we will continue to suffer tragedy after tragedy and then someone new will come along and turn your head."

"Margot, look at me," George commanded, putting his hand under Marguerite's chin and turning her face so she could see the earnestness in his eyes. "My father was a vain man who believed that not having a son was a failure and as he could not blame himself he chose to blame his first wife instead. Although I cannot be upset that my mother and my father were married, I would never do what my father did. God forbid that our son dies and we only have daughters after him, I shall prepare them to be my heirs. As for you, I swear upon my life that twenty years will go by and I will love you just the same."

With that, he kissed her lovingly as they lay there with their newborn daughter, each praying she should live for those twenty years.

* * *

** _March 5 1551 _ **

Princess Margaret managed to live for almost a month. In fact, for a little while it seemed she was growing healthier each day but two nights ago she got sick with a chill and all that strength she had painstakingly built up evaporated and she died, devastating the royal court especially her parents and grandmother.

_I now realize what you were so afraid of, sweet brother, all those years ago. I barely even knew her but I loved her. And it hurts so much that I will never get to know her or to watch her grow up. It is like Owen's death all over again but at least with him I had twelve years. _

George sighed as he entered his manor, his thoughts filled with not only the sad events at court but also about Jane and the death of her and their two sons.

"Father!" John greeted him once he had entered, embracing him almost at once. "You've come to save me from being the only man here."

The Duke of Wiltshire glanced that Palace of Beaulieu's steward who only chuckled fondly. Of course both men knew what John meant but it was still a bit of an overstatement to say that John was surrounded by only women.

"John, as the only boy, you are supposed to act like a knight for your sisters and mother just like I was," George admonished him gently. After all he was certain that John was just attempting to coax his father into bring him to court more often.

"I'm sorry, Father, it is just been so boring without you," John explained, ducking as George extended his hand to ruffle his hair.

"Forgive us, sweet brother, for not being good enough to entertain you," the Duchess of Suffolk said coolly as she made her way down the stairs leading to the entrance hall along with her sisters and stepmother. John at least the decency to look embarrassed.

"My doves and my angels," George murmured his eyes lighting up as he rushed to greet his wife and his older daughters with a kiss on each of their cheeks before scooping up his youngest daughter in his arms. "I have missed you so."

"We missed you too Papa," Annie greeted him cheerfully. As the baby of the family, she was not only the apple of her parents' eyes but also her older half-sisters who made sure to come see her as often as they could.

"Now what have I done to deserve this family get together?" George asked. He noticed the sly looks between his children and his wife. "Is this a conspiracy? Are all of you conspiring against me?" he demanded in mock-horror. When Annie giggled, he looked at her with an overdramatic betrayed look. "Sweet child, tell me that you have not forsaken your beloved Papa and have _conspired_ against him."

"Sorry Papa but I've been sworn to secrecy," Annie said in a regretful tone which was ruined by the grin on her face.

"Alas, alack, my heart breaks for I have been so bitterly betrayed by my flesh and blood," George declared.

"Janey's pregnant!" Marian exclaimed, unable to keep it to herself any longer. She ignored the glare sent by her sister.

George put Annie down so he could embrace Janey. "Is that so, my dove? Are you really to give me a grandchild?" he asked excitedly. When the Duchess of Suffolk nodded, he hugged her again. "I have never been so pleased to hear that."

"So do you forgive us for conspiring against you, Father?" John asked playfully.

"Of course I do for you have made me very happy," George laughed, kissing his daughter's cheek as he beamed at her in pride.

* * *

** _March 22 1551 _ **

Eric of Sweden and Fredrick of Denmark were vying for Princess Elizabeth's hand in marriage. Both men had written love letters to the Princess, expressing their awe at her beauty and how they were certain that the English ambassador had not been exaggerating when he spoke of her virtues.

Although she found nothing offensive about those letters (however if pressed she would note that there were distressing rumors about her Swedish suitor's state of mind that made her apprehensive about marrying him), neither of these princes could hope to live up to Robin who she had grown up with: their close childhood friendship had blossomed into romance.

"It will be Robert Dudley or I will never marry," Elizabeth proclaimed.

Anne could not help but look at her youngest daughter with pride for she was as fierce as her parents. She had the Tudor temper with all the righteous fire and daring of the Boleyns. And just like both of her Aunt Marys, she didn't care about the status of her beloved, she wanted to marry him.

Beside her, King George sighed, not quite as impressed with his sister's determination as his mother was. While there had been no formal betrothal agreement for Elizabeth despite there being no shortage of suitors, their father had made it clear that he wanted a good marriage for his emerald just as good as the one he had made for his two other daughters.

Had the dynastic match between his sister and the Archduke Maximillian actually happened as the late Earl of Essex had been hopeful it would, George was certain that Elizabeth would have done her duty and one day would have been the Holy Roman Empress, playing peacemaker between her husband's Catholic vassals along with his Protestant subjects.

He was sure if he put his foot down and demanded she either marry Fredrick or Eric, Elizabeth would fight him for a while but eventually she would do it even if she hated her brother for it.

The thought of his sister hating him was not what stopped him from flat out refusing her request to marry Robert Dudley-not entirely. Elizabeth had a knack for politics and like their sister, she was more neutral when it came to religion even if she leaned more towards Protestantism.

Her keen mind and pragmatism rivaled both their mother and the late Thomas Cromwell. She wasn't even twenty yet and she was among the few whose advice George trusted the most.

If he were to pick one of his siblings to be regent, it would not be Edward who would rather play than work and often stated to despise politics.

Elizabeth had the heart and the stomach of a king. And George was loath to lose such an intelligent mind to another country. Keeping his youngest sister with him would only be a bonus.

"I won't be making your husband-to-be a duke, Lisbeth. He will have to make do with an Earldom," George decided gravely.

"Oh George, you are wonderful," Elizabeth gushed, kissing his cheek, taking advantage of being in the King's private audience chamber to be affectionate with her brother. She then glanced at her mother, noticing she looked sad. "Mother, I know you and Father wanted me to be a queen but I—"

"I understand, sweetheart, I just wish I had it as easy as you," Anne admitted, hugging her daughter, her thoughts melancholy. She had given her heart to two Henrys, one who was forced to marry someone else and the other who she had to wait three years to marry. "As long as you are happy, I shall be happy for you."

Anne cannot help but think of Annette who was unhappy in her marriage to the Crown Prince of Spain instead of the French prince she wanted. It was strange to think that the daughter who would never be queen would be happier than the one who would eventually wear a crown.

* * *

** _March 31 1551 _ **

Robert Dudley was still at a loss at had just happened. He would never have gotten the courage to ask for Elizabeth's hand in marriage, viewing it as nothing more than a pipe dream.

"You are getting married to a coward, Bess," he said with a sigh as they sat in the garden together.

"No, not a coward but a realist," Elizabeth told him gently, her eyes filled with affection for her fiancé.

"How did you know His Majesty would agree?"

"George has felt guilty about sending Annette to Spain for a while now," Elizabeth began. The only reason her brother had allowed the marriage to go through was because their father had started the negotiations before he died and George had not wanted to break their father's word. "I was certain he would not want to force me to marry anyone I didn't want to."

"And what if he had refused, what would you have done then?" Robert asked, smiling as he pictured Elizabeth coming to him and begging him to run away with him. "Would you have asked me to elope instead."

"Would you have said no?" Elizabeth shot back. Even if he was willing to risk his life, perhaps he would have been turned off by a woman (even one he loved) being so forward.

"As if I could refuse my princess anything," Robert laughed, kissing her hand before moving to kiss her lips.

Losing his head would have been worth it for just a moment to call Princess Elizabeth his wife. Of course now he had his entire lifetime to call her that.

Unfortunately, their tender moment was interrupted when a familiar voice called their names.

"Robin, Lisbeth, do you mind if we join you?" Edward called as he and Magdalena made their way to the bench Robin and Elizabeth were currently sitting on, grinning from ear to ear, not seeming to notice what they had been doing a moment before.

"Before you answer, I feel I must warn you, he has an agenda," Magdalena remarked with an exasperated expression.

"Maddy, dearest Maddy, why must you ruin my fun?" Edward protested.

"Because you are intruding on a private moment," Magdalena pointed out, shooting Elizabeth an apologetic look.

Well as private as it could be with Kat Ashley standing a few feet away, ready to interrupt had the kiss became a bit too passionate. Of course if the moment had actually been private, the Spanish princess would have more likely been scandalized that Elizabeth and Robert were left without a chaperone, engaged or not.

"I just wanted to know if my support for their future marriage will be rewarded by a future nephew being named for his favorite uncle," Edward remarked, grinning even more widely if that was possible.

"Well George is a great name for a boy and it would give tribute to the King," Robert said, rubbing his chin thoughtful.

"I have always been fond of the name Owen myself," Elizabeth countered, her innocent tone ruined by the mischief in her eyes. She frowned slightly, thinking of her youngest brother who had died of tuberculosis two years ago. Naming her son Owen would be a good way to remember the third Tudor prince who had not been able to make his mark on history before he died.

"Ungrateful ingrates the both of you," Edward declared in mock rage. "I have been your champion and not one word of thanks."

"Your sister needs no champion, she is her own," Robert remarked fondly, giving Elizabeth a fond look that brought a blush to her cheeks.

"You needn't flatter me, Robin, you have already won my heart," Elizabeth told him, fighting to hide her smile.

"It's not flattery if it's true," Robert retorted.

The couple barely noticed Magdalena pulling her husband away or Kat deciding that she would much rather look at the roses bushes than keep a close eye on them.

* * *

** _May 10 1551 _ **

** _Spain_ **

Annette had been married to the Spanish Prince for the past three years and she still felt like a stranger in a hostile land. Most of the courtiers regarded her with barely concealed contempt and she was aware that at least two of her ladies were spies paid by her husband-the only reason she allowed them to remain in her service was because she had nothing to hide and if Phillip or anyone at all for that matter wanted to waste their money trying to discover something bad about her, that was their prerogative.

Although her sisters-in-law and father-in-law at least tried to be more welcoming, the only person she felt close to was her five-year-old stepson.

Infante Carlos' mother had died when he was just a baby and he had latched on to Annette as the only mother figure he had ever known. Much to his father's displeasure, he insisted on calling Annette Mama and refused to even acknowledge that she wasn't his birth mother. In fact, he would throw a fit if anyone ever called Annette his stepmother, not calming down until the person apologized for their words.

Carlos was a troubled child; Annette was aware of that but he loved Annette very much and she was certain that he would be overjoyed learning that he was due to get a sibling by the end of the year.

Unfortunately, his reaction was not the one she had hoped for.

"NO! NO! I don't want a brother! You can't do this to me!" he shouted, banging his fists on her dress. "NO!"

"Stop that! Stop that at once!" Annette exclaimed, grabbing his wrists, terrified that he might hit her enough to cause her to have a miscarriage.

"You see! You already love the baby more than me!" Carlos wailed, angry tears spilling down his face as he struggled to wrench himself from her grip either to run away or to continue hitting her. "You and Papa are trying to replace me!"

Annette dropped to her knees, let go of Carlos's wrists and embraced the boy, wanting to show him how much she loved him so he would understand that he was not being replaced. She began to sing Mary's lullaby as he continued to scream and hit her, allowing him to tire himself out.

Soon the only sound in the nursery was the Spanish lullaby Annette had loved so much. Once she finished, Carlos stayed in her arms his face buried into the crook of her neck, sniffling but otherwise very still.

"What is happening in here?" Emperor Charles demanded as he entered the nursery, a frown on his face. "Carlos, are you being bad?"

"No, Your Majesty, Carlos just fell and hurt himself so I was comforting him," Annette lied, unwilling to allow her stepson to be punished.

"Did you hear that Carlos? Your mother just lied for you. You caused her pain and could have hurt your sibling or worse and yet she was unwilling to allow you to be scolded. Do you have anything to say to her?" the Holy Roman Emperor demanded, giving his grandson a stern look.

"I'm sorry, Mama," Carlos said regretfully.

"It's all right, sweetheart, I forgive you," Annette assured him, kissing the top of his head.

"May I escort you back to your apartments, my lady," Charles offered, even though it was clearly a command and not a request.

After saying goodbye to Carlos, Annette took Charles' arm and allowed him to lead her through the corridors. She could tell by the look on the older man's face that he wanted to say something to her but didn't want to do so with some many others around.

Finally when they arrived at her apartments, he took her to her private audience chamber, instructing his grooms and her ladies to stay behind.

"That lullaby you were singing. Where did you learn it?" he asked, his tone melancholy as he averted his eyes.

Annette blinked at him in surprise. She had been expecting a rebuke for lying to him or for not admonishing Carlos for losing his temper especially when he could have caused her to miscarry.

"My sister taught it to me," Annette explained, doubting she would have to elaborate as to which sister she was talking about.

"She must have learned it from her mother. My mother used to sing it to me and my siblings a long time ago," Charles remarked, his tone as regretful as his grandson, perhaps remembering how his mother had to be locked up. "Isabel never sang it to our children so it has been a long time since I have heard that particular lullaby."

"Forgive me if I have overstepped," Annette began. After all, while she was Mary's family, she was not related to the children of Queen Joanna or Queen Maria of Portugal so perhaps the Holy Roman Emperor viewed her singing that lullaby as a personal offense.

"There is nothing to forgive," Charles assured her with a warm smile. "It was nice to hear it again so I thank you for bringing it back."

Annette smiled back, hoping this would be her first step into becoming part of the Spanish family. The second step, of course, would be the child she was carrying.

Whether she liked it or not, she would be the Queen of Spain one day and she would prefer to make the most of it including improving the opinion of those who did not like her.

* * *

** _June _** **_5 1551 _ **

Annette was fuming. She knew people saw her mother as a whore. She knew people believed her mother had seduced her father to forsake his marriage with Katherine of Aragon. She knew that some people believed the same of her, even claiming that she had wished to do the same to Catherine de' Medici in order to steal the French crown.

However, she did not think that people would believe that she would try to seduce her father-in-law, a widower who was the grandfather of her unborn children. But no, once people started noticing the friendship between Annette and Emperor Charles rumors began to fly.

While it was true that she and Charles had become unlikely friends since that day he had overheard her singing his mother's lullaby and that they had been spending an awful lot of time together, it was all innocent. Annette had begun to see Charles as something of a father figure and she was certain that the Holy Roman Emperor saw her as one of his daughters.

But it seemed that there were those who were determined to see the worst in her and chief among them was her husband.

He didn't even have the decency to ask her behind closed doors, instead he confronted her in the very public corridors leading to the Great Hall. Luckily there weren't too many courtiers ambling about.

"Is it true?" Phillip demanded and Annette caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath, perhaps the reason why seemed not to be able to control his temper. "Have you made me a cuckold and with my own father no less?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, my lord. If you wish to have a discussion perhaps it would be better to speak privately," Annette hissed, furious that Phillip would say such a thing and so publicly at that.

"Don't play dumb with me. My sainted mother was a better woman than you will ever be. Have you dared desecrate her memory by bewitching my father?" Phillip demanded, his voice rising.

"I will not dignify that with a response," Annette snarled, her cheeks red with anger and embarrassment. But when she tried to walk away, Phillip grabbed her arm.

"I am your husband and master. You will not leave until I am finished with you," he shouted, twisting her arm painfully.

"LET GO OF HER!" Carlos roared, charging at his father, headbutting his legs, causing him to drop Annette's arm out of surprise. "Don't you dare hurt my mama!" He then ran to Annette, hugging her around her waist, burying his face in her dress which only served to anger his father more.

"SHE IS NOT YOUR MOTHER!" Philip bellowed, looking as though he was about to slap his son. But the sight of his father standing next to his son's governess stopped him. Philip looked around, his face aghast as if he had just noticed that he was in a public place where there had been people who had seen and heard his outburst.

"I have often scolded Carlos when he acts most unseemly but I did not think I would have to do the same with his father," Emperor Charles said in a deathly soft voice. "And if you have any concerns about my conduct with your wife, Phillip, I would hope you would come to me with them instead of upsetting her when she carries your children."

"Forgive me, Father," Phillip said, lowering his eyes as he got down on his knees.

"It's not me you should be apologizing to," Charles said, his eyes narrowed.

Annette tried not to smirk as her husband turned to her, still on his knees and begged for her forgiveness.

* * *

** _June 26 1551_ **

** _England_ **

Elizabeth and Robert had chosen a small wedding ceremony, although with Anne and Edward planning it, it had still been quite extravagant.

They were due to spend their honeymoon in Calais in a fortnight but King George had insisted throwing a lavish banquet in their honor. This would also be the day Robert would be given his Earldom. He was not the only receiving a high honor though.

His father, John Dudley was now the Duke of Northumberland, the Lord of the Privy Seal was given the Earldom of Bedford and the King's cousin Henry Carey had been created the Earl of Hertford.

If Robert had any complaints of having to share his special day with so many others, he made none, waiting eagerly until it was his turn to walk up to the dais and kneel before the King and Queen of England.

"Sir Robert Dudley, by the orders of His Gracious King George, you shall be henceforth known as the Earl of Leicester," Sir William Cecil proclaimed, not looking pleased in the slightest.

It was well known that while the royal family had accepted the marriage between Robert and Princess Elizabeth, the rest of the court especially the members of the Privy council-barring the newly created Duke of Northumberland of course-were aghast at Elizabeth marrying so lowly.

According to Edward, George's councilors had tried to convince the young monarch to reconsider, some even insisting it would harm England's relations with Sweden and Denmark if their crown princes were snubbed for the fourth son of a social upstart not to mention the grandson of a traitor.

While the ambassadors of the aforementioned countries were not pleased with the new development, there was no talk of drastic actions to punish England for that snub. And considering, George's half-sister was the queen of Sweden, he would have had first hand knowledge if that was the case.

Robert smiled proudly as he took a seat next to his father who looked equally if not more pleased. However, John Dudley's smile turned into one of surprise when Princess Elizabeth's name was called. He looked quizzically at his son, wondering if Robert knew what was going on. Robert kept his eyes on his wife, knowing full well what was happening and not feeling an ounce of resentment because of it.

"Princess Elizabeth Tudor, by orders of His Gracious Majesty, King George, you are henceforth to be known as Princess Elizabeth Tudor, Duchess of Pembroke and Countess of Leicester," Cecil declared, sounding far more cheerful than he had when he had announced either of the Dudley's new titles.

Once the ceremony was complete, the King and Queen lead the court to the banquet hall. As the husband of a royal duchess, Robert was able to walk ahead of his father and even the Duke of Norfolk; he could practically feel the latter glaring a hole in his back.

"You are looking quite smug, my love," Elizabeth whispered, looking quite pleased herself.

"I am the most envied man in court and despite being simply an Earl I still outrank everyone aside from your brothers. I cannot help it, Liz," Robert replied, keeping his voice low. "I shall try very heard to keep it from going to my head but I make no promises."

"As long as we remain true to each other, I shall not mind," Elizabeth assured him.

"Now that is a promise I shall keep," Robert assured her.

* * *

"How are you feeling, Margot?" George asked his wife, studying her worriedly. Since the death of their daughter, he had noticed Marguerite seemed a little depressed, barely managing to stay through Elizabeth's wedding. Not even the presence of Henry-Francis was enough to cheer her up.

"I'm fine," Margot assured him with a weak smile.

"Are you sure? Because I can make an excuse," George told her. Even if the excuse was not believed, no one would stop him and Marguerite from leaving early.

"Please do not coddle me," Margot said, a little sharper than she meant to. She sighed when she saw George's affronted look. "Forgive me, I am just weary of everyone worrying about me. I know my spirits have been low but I shall improve soon, I promise."

"Margot, I know you put on a brave front-"

"And you do not!" Marguerite interrupted loudly, causing the room to fall silent as they all turned to stare at the Queen, startled by her outburst. Deciding there was absolutely no way, she could save face, the Queen decided to make a hasty exit followed by her ladies.

"I think Her Majesty and I shall retire early. Please continue with the festivities in our absence," George commanded before leaving the Great Hall as well, letting the courtiers speculate whether or not there were problems in the royal marriage.

"I swear if I hear anyone even mention Katherine of Aragon, they will be swiftly banished from court," Anne grumbled, eying the other tables critically, daring anyone to make any such remark. She had no doubt that George would have no objections if she did banished someone making comparisons between Margot and Henry's first wife.

"Do you really think they will?" Edward asked, half-wishing he could take George's seat so the conversation with the remainder of the royal family couldn't be overheard. But not even he dared to break court etiquette like that. Not to mention if he ever took George's seat, there would probably be a rumor that he intended on fighting his brother for the crown as if he wanted the responsibilities that came with being a king. "Everyone knows my brother has a type: a French woman who looks and acts like Marguerite and is named Marguerite."

"When the French King's older brother died, even in Spain it was whispered that your sister would seduce him into annulling his marriage to Queen Catherine so she could marry him instead. There are many people who like to see drama where there is none," Magdalena remarked disapprovingly.

"Let's not talk about such unpleasantness on Elizabeth and Robert's special day," Anne suggested, flinching at the thought of how her reputation had affected her oldest daughter.

"It is a special day, Mother, considering I have just learned that you will once again be a grandmother by next year," Edward announced with excitement, unable to keep the news to himself any longer.

Beside him, Magdalena did not look upset by her husband's slip of tongue, instead she beamed at the three people across the table.

"Really?" Anne exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

"Will he or she be named Robert or Elizabeth?" Robin teased, remembering how insistent Edward was about their future unborn child being named Edward. Elizabeth playfully swatted his arm. "Congratulation, Ned."

* * *

"What did you mean by that?" George demanded as he strode into Marguerite's bedchamber.

"Mean by what?" Margot asked as she sat on the bed, facing away from him.

"That I put on a brave front," George reminded her.

"I meant that as King and Queen, we cannot show our vulnerability. We must not let ourselves be carried away by our emotions. You keep acting as though I can just let myself wallow in despair when you would never let yourself be so careless," Margot explained heatedly.

"We are human, Margot, just like everyone else. We cannot keep things bottled up until we break. I'm not asking you to not act like a queen, I'm asking you to be honest to your husband and lean on him when you need to," George told her, going over to her and kneeling in front of her. "Do you think you are alone in feeling sad over our daughter's death? Do you think I don't ache knowing that we had four children but we will see only one of them grow up? I want us to heal together not apart."

"I want to move forward and constantly remaindering of what we lost is not going to do that."

"I'm sorry. I had no intention of…" George began.

"I know," Margot interrupted him, kissing him softly. "I know."

"We are still young, sweetheart and soon we shall give our son both brothers and sisters," George predicted with a tearful smile on his face.

* * *

** _July 15 1551 _ **

The sweating sickness once again ravaged England. The last time it happened, it had nearly taken his kingly uncle, his father and his mother. Now it took his younger half-brothers.

Henry Brandon, the second Duke of Suffolk was no stranger to the loss of loved ones but the knowledge that his two brothers would never reach manhood was still a devastating blow.

His stepmother was inconsolable for she had lost her only children. Her wails of grief and despair had only subsided about an hour ago.

"She's sleeping now," Janey reported as she came down the stairs. "I have asked the servants to alert me should she wake up and need me."

Suffolk could not help but smile at his wife. It was well known that her stepmother never liked the Boleyns and she had not been kind to Jane when she first became Henry's bride, in fact she had begged him not to go through with the wedding when the Queen's nice became of age. Their interactions while polite were still ripe with tension.

It seemed now through this great tragedy, the two women had managed to find some common ground.

"Thank you for taking care of her, sweetheart," Henry said softly, taking his wife's hand in his while using his free hand to touch her swollen belly. "Although I am sad by those we have lost, at least we can experience some joy in the coming months."

Janey gave him a tearful smile. "If our baby is a girl, can we call her Mary?" she asked softly.

"Of course, we can," Henry assured her, squeezing her hand in comfort.

* * *

** _August 6 1551 _ **

Havering Palace was a nice royal residence, usually given to the Queen Consort or the Queen Dowager. However, despite becoming the Dowager Queen after Henry's death and giving up her apartments to her daughter-in-law, Anne was never one to fade out of existence, preferring to make use of her permanent lodgings at court.

That was until Mary Boleyn had fallen ill with the sweat. Anne had not left her sister's side, staying with her until the end.

"You know she wouldn't want us moping over her," George began as he and Anne walked through the park.

"I'm not moping," Anne snapped.

"I know that. I just meant-"

"I know what you meant, George. But the older we grow the more people we lose and it's hard," Anne said with a heavy sigh, counting how many friends and loved ones she had lost in the past five years alone.

"It is not easier to handle death when we are young," George pointed out with a grimace, thinking of the three deaths, almost thirty-years-ago that still haunted him to the point where he feared that he might lose Janey the same way he lost her namesake.

"I know but I just keep wondering whose next: you or me," Anne whispered.

"Don't, Anne, I beg of you. I can't handle thinking that," George implored her, a sudden note of hysteria in his voice. Anne quickly embraced him. They stood together in silence for a few minutes, struggling to contain their tears before George spoke again. "Anne, you know you can always come to Hever if you are ever feeling lonely."

After the death of Henry, Mary had moved to Havering Palace with her husband and younger children. With William Stafford as the Steward of Owen's household, Edward Stafford as one of his cousins' grooms and Anne Stafford was among Elizabeth's ladies, there were no family members at Havering to help Anne through this trying time.

George was not the only person to suggest Anne come live with them, worrying that her grief might get the better of her.

Her children of course-baring Annette for obvious reasons- even the newly married Elizabeth had sent her invitations to come stay with them. Kitty Howard, the Countess of Bristol, had stressed how happy she and Andrew would be if Anne wished to stay with them for a while.

Anne, not wanting to intrude, had turned all those invitations down but Hever was different. Hever had been her childhood home and it brought back so many lovely memories whenever she went there.

The memories of her and her sister playing in the fields, giggling as George did his best to catch up to them as they ran.

"All right, George, I'll go to Hever," Anne decided.

"Good because I know your goddaughter and namesake will be thrilled to see you," George told her with a sad smile.

* * *

** _November 19 1551 _ **

** _Sweden _ **

King Gustav of Sweden was almost sixty and yet he had no intention of slowing down. There was a war brewing with Russia and Gustav was eager to lead his army against them. However, he needed allies and was looking towards Poland to help him, offering one of his sons for a Polish princess.

Mary was quite eager to agree considering the Polish princesses were related to her cousin Charles and therefore related to her mother even if it was just by marriage not by blood.

"I know I am a bit biased, my lord, but I do think that the Princess Katarina will make a fine wife for either Erik or Johan," she began. "The Polish ambassador swears that she is intelligent, beautiful…"

"As is every princess including your half-sister," Gustav interjected, a ghost of smile on his face.

Mary grimaced at the mention of Elizabeth, wondering what on earth her half-brother had been thinking allowing her marriage to the fourth son of man of little note. Although Erik was furious, no one had blamed Mary for her family snubbing a Swedish suitor for a virtual nobody.

"I do not deny that the ambassadors are never forthcoming about their master's children's shortcomings," Mary said, trying to banish the small voice in her mind that commented that their ambassador had probably made no mention of Erik's erratic behavior. When he had learned of Elizabeth's marriage the Dudley boy, he had declared he would either cut off his rival's head or send an assassin to poison him. In Mary's opinion Johan was a much better choice for King of Sweden let alone perspective husband of the Polish princess. However, she knew better than to say that.

"She is Catholic," Gustav pointed out. "If Erik marries her, people will be looking at both you and her with suspicious eyes."

"I cannot speak for the Princess Katrina but I have been in your country for well over a decade and I have not influenced our children to follow my religion nor would I ever," Mary said firmly.

"You may not try but we both know how much Johan wishes to please you," Gustav remarked. His tone was not accusatory as he knew his wife was terrified that her children might be kept away from her if it was thought she might be influencing them.

"I understand that but Johan will not be king, Erik will be so it will not be an issue if he marries Princess Katrina," Mary assured him. She quickly continued before Gustav could say anything else. "I was told by my ladies that you once looked towards the Swedish nobility for a second wife before you married me. If you are concerned that our son might be influenced too much by me than why not marry him to a daughter of a nobleman who you trust and follows your religion."

"Do you have a candidate in mind?" Gustav asked, a curious eyebrow quirked, doubting his wife had just thought of this in the spur of the moment.

"Katarina Gustavsdotter Stenbock," Mary answered, almost immediately, pleased that Gustav was receptive to her idea.

Although Sweden had been accepting of a Catholic woman as their queen, Gustav was right that she would be looked at with suspicious eyes if her son married a Catholic princess especially one that came a dynasty she was related to.

Katrina's aunt Margareta Leijonhufvud was not only the perspective bride of Gustav before he married Mary but she and Mary had become close friends to the point where Mary had become friendly with young Katrina as well.

If the worst happened-and Mary still loved the boy who had brought her flowers and asked to call her Mama when they were first introduced to call his downfall the worst case scenario-and Erik was too unstable to rule, forcing John to have usurp his brother's throne, it would better if John was married to a Protestant woman so Sweden would trust John to not destroy their religion despite any Catholic sympathies he might have gotten from his mother.

Although Mary knew that her son deserved a princess as a wife and her wish that all heretics would return to the truth faith, she knew she would have to act more like her mother and try to make the best of what life had thrown at her.

"You have given me much to think about, Mary and I thank you for sharing your thoughts with me," Gustav said genuinely. He kissed her hand chastely. "I must think this over but I promise you we shall discuss this again."

"I am forever your humble servant," Mary told him, curtsying as she backed away, having recognized the dismissal in his words.

She had no doubt he would think of it and perhaps eventually he would agree. And if he agreed to the bride she had picked for John, perhaps he would also agree to the grooms she hoped her daughters would marry.

* * *

** _December 4 1551 _ **

** _Spain _ **

Twins. Annette could not believe it. She had given birth to twins on her first try as well. Let her blasted husband complain about her now.

"I feel tired but triumphant," Annette jested weakly.

Archduchess Maria and Infanta Juana smiled her as they held their newborn niece and nephew.

"They are both beautiful, Anna, you should be very proud," Juana told her, beaming at her sister-in-law, very pleased to be able to meet her new nephew and niece. Soon she would be off to Portugal to be married to her cousin Prince Phillip.

"I wonder if I am holding my daughter's husband in my arms," Maria remarked, her eyes shining with affection. When she spotted the frown of annoyance on Annette's face, her eyes narrowed. "What is it about that notion that displeases you? Is my daughter, Archduchess Anna who I named for you as well as her grandmother, not good enough for your son?"

"No but do you really thinking that your brother would approve of more of my blood marrying his blood. I won't be surprised if he decides to make my son a member of the clergy just to avoid marrying him off," Annette half-lied, not wanting to upset her sister-in-law by mentioning her wish for her son to marry a French princess or her daughter could marry a French prince.

She could tell by Maria's nonplussed expression and Juana's knowing smirk that they guessed her true thoughts but before either could comment, Philip entered the birthing chambers, a smirk upon his face.

"I hear that we have a son and a daughter, wife, it will please you to know that I have decided their names shall be Felipe and Maria," he announced.

Annette plastered a smile on her face, willing herself not to give in to her temper, knowing she could not afford to look like the bad guy.

She had no objections to naming her daughter Maria as it was her favorite sister's name and it would be nice to pay her sister-in-law back for not only naming her first-born daughter Anna but also making Annette godmother.

However, it was clear that not only was Phillip naming their daughter Maria after his first wife, he was doing so to taunt her. Annette refused to allow her husband to use their children to humiliate her.

"Those names do please me, husband, very much," Annette simpered, her voice dripping with sugary-sweetness. "but I am afraid I have already promised your father that I would name our son and daughter Ferdinando and Isabel."

She had made no such promises but she was certain if she brought the matter up with Emperor Charles, he would agree with her. From the angry scowl on Phillip's face, he was aware of that. After all, Ferdinando and Isabel were still beloved monarchs years after their death and all of Spain would be pleased that their great-great-grandchildren would bear their names.

"So be it. I shall have the announcements made up immediately," he told her, nodding his head in respect before leaving without even glancing at his newborn children.

"I hope Father knocks some sense into him," Maria muttered.

"He'll come around eventually," Juana said sweetly, giving Annette a sympathetic look.

"It matters not a wit to me what he does. I would rather focus on my children," Annette declared. "Speaking of whom. Perhaps Carlos would like to be introduced to his little siblings."

* * *

** _March 23 1552 _ **

** _England _ **

The joust today was not just celebrating Edward's birthday but also the fact that he was a father of perhaps the most precious little girl. He had decided to call her Owena, a tribute to her late uncle.

King George had declined to joust, although he promised to be a fierce competitor at the tennis match his brother had planned for today as well.

Edward winked at the lovely ladies as he rode past them on his horse, enjoying their applause. George could not help but note that while his brother was a terrible flirt, he never had a mistress and despite his complaints about his wife (most of which were simply her trying to convince him to pay attention to his estate's affairs), he seemed quite put out when he asked for her favor and she declined.

"Forgive me, husband but I have misplaced my handkerchief and therefore have nothing to give you," Magdalena told him apologetically. She frowned when out of the corner of her eyes, she saw some ladies had not so discreetly taken out their favors, hoping to catch the Duke of York's eye.

"Fear not, dear lady, I shall make do with the favor you gave me on our wedding day," Edward declared much to those ladies' disappointment, waving the gantlet that covered his hand, alluding to his wedding ring.

Magdalena smiled at him, kissing his cheek for good luck as he rode to the end of the field. She shot the women who had been so eager to put themselves in front of her husband in hopes of catching his eyes a cold glare.

"It always is a pity when such handsome men are wasted on cold shrews," one of the ladies whispered loudly to her friend.

George opened his mouth to rebuke the lady who dared insult his sister-in-law who was a sensible woman trying to keep his carefree brother grounded but Magdalena quickly intervened, not wanting to cause a scene.

"Your Majesty, how is the Queen? Is she doing well?" she asked, ignoring the rude lady.

"Very well," George replied, smiling fondly. Marguerite was pregnant again and God willing this time, her pregnancy would end happier. She was not attending the joust today as the royal physician feared it would be too much excitement for her.

"Good I am glad. Henry Francis has written to me how happy he will be to accept both his cousin and his siblings at Hatfield," Magdalena remarked, smiling as she thought of her daughter.

George smiled as well, thinking of his son. Henry Francis was growing fast, soon to be six-years-old. Being the only child of his parents, not to mention being the Prince of Wales, it was quite hard not to spoil him. Thankfully, he had been surrounded by companions who were the younger children of minor gentlemen who hopefully would keep him grounded.

"It will be nice to have the royal nursery be full of children again," George said, his tone wistful. Some of his fondest memories were spending the first ten years of his life with his siblings.

Their conversation was interrupted when the joust began, causing them to turn their attention to the field where Edward and his opponent were waiting to charge at each other.

As soon as they received the signal, the two jousters raced towards each other their lances ready to strike. But just when Edward's lance hit his opponent's shield, he lost his balance and fell backwards off his horse, slamming into the ground below and with his foot still in the stirrup, he was dragged behind the horse until someone stopped it.

The crowd froze in mid-cheer as if they expected Edward to get back up on his horse, having only pretend to have lost his balance. When the Duke of York did not move from where he had fallen, murmurs of fear and worry rippled through the crowd of people.

King George was on his feet at once, running to his Edward's aide, praying that he would not loose another brother.

Thankfully he was still conscious but it was clear he was struggling to stay that way.

"George, I can't feel my legs. Why can't I feel my legs?" Edward asked, sounding hysterical.

"It's okay, Ned, you're going to be okay," George promised him as men rushed forward to put Edward on a gurney.

With the Duke of York's accident, all celebrations including the joust were quickly cancelled and everyone returned to the castle.

While the courtiers returned to their own apartments, Magdalena and George went to the tent where Cesare Adelmare and Thomas Gale were treating Edward. Magdalena seemed to be barely holding herself together. When given the okay by the physician she wasted no time running to her husband's side. George hung back, not only to give them space but to also question the doctors about his brother's condition.

"I am afraid his spinal cord has been damaged while he is alive, it is unlikely he will ever be able to walk again," Dr. Adelmare explained.

"Is there nothing we can do to help him?" George asked. His brother was only twenty-one-years-old, he did not deserve to lose his ability to move.

* * *

"I think this is God's punishment for not listening to you, Maddy," Edward laughed, a strained smile on his face, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

"Do not say that! How can you say that!" Magdalena cried, tears beginning to leak from her eyes as she placed her head on his chest. "I thought I was going to lose you."

"Not even a broken spine could keep me from you," Edward assured her, his smile slightly more genuine now.

"Ned, please, enough with your jokes. This is serious," Magdalena told him.

"No, I refuse to be serious. I refuse to act like my life is over. It's not over. I shall write and compose. I shall paint pictures, plan every celebration this court ever has. I shall debate with scholars, fund great expeditions, commission the building of great works. I am a Tudor, Madam, and the loss of legs will not stop me from being who I am!" Edward exclaimed passionately, his chest heaving.

A few minutes of silence passed between them as Magdalena realized what her husband needed.

"I suppose this means you will be planning another masquerade," Magdalena remarked, lifting her head to give Edward an appropriate disapproving look, letting out an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. "Honestly Edward, you could feed an entire country with the amount of money you spend. And what of taking an interest in statecraft? Don't you think it's time, you asked your brother for a position on his council? It wouldn't hurt to show some initiative."

"Maddy, Maddy, must you always ruin my fun?" Edward teased, a grin spreading across his face.

"Always," Magdalena replied with a tearful smile as Edward cupped her face with his hand, using his thumb to brush away the tears.

They weren't like George and Marguerite or Robert and Elizabeth. They weren't in love when they married and their relationship couldn't even be described as friends. They had just been two people who happened to be married.

But at some point, it stopped just being an odd sort of relationship where they would bicker lightly over whatever it was that had annoyed them but they respected each other enough to not outright hate each other.

At some point, Edward and Magdalena found themselves wanting to spend every waking hour in each other's company.

At some point they had fallen in love.

And now, even if their precious daughter had not been born and her uncle pressured her to seek an annulment from a marriage that would bear no fruit, Magdalena would have refused to go, unwilling to leave her husband.

"Do not cry, Maddy, I beg of you. It is not easy for me but I refuse to dwell on it. I am too young to brood over what could have been. Instead I will focus on proving every fool in the entire world who thinks that I am now useless wrong," Edward told her firmly.

"You are many things, my love, but you are not useless," Magdalena assured him as she pressed her forehead to his.

In the doorway King George had been waiting for them to finish their conversation so he could talk to Edward but he could see by their body language that they would not be done for a long time so he decided to slip away unnoticed.

As King George walked back to the castle, he couldn't help but feel a rush of bride for his brother who was determined to live his life despite the newfound restrictions he was facing.

George would make a commission of his own, asking for anyone to be able to help his brother be able to move around instead of being confined to a bed.

* * *

** _April 30 1552 _ **

"According to some merchants I spoke with: in the East, they have something called a wheel chair that can be used to transport those who cannot walk from place to place. I have already spoke with the King of Portugal asking if he can find something like that for you," George explained, deciding that talking to Edward would get his mind off of what was happening in his wife's chambers.

"I think my grooms will be pleased that they will not have to carry me from room to room," Edward jested, smirking at the four young men standing nearby in case he needed to be moved again. "It has been a hell of a month for them. For everything they have had to help me do, they deserve double their salary."

George was once again in awe of how Edward continued to be in high-spirits where most men in his situation would be grim. True, whenever things like hunts and jousts were mentioned, he could see the longing in Edward's eyes but he refused to wallow in self-pity something that everyone agreed was admirable.

"Magdalena tells me you have started writing a play," George remarked, wanting to change the subject for fear he might start gushing over how brave Edward was being, knowing that while the Duke of York was willing to joke about it, saying things like how strong he was made him uncomfortable and sometimes irritable. "May I inquire what it is you are writing about?"

"Well I was thinking of writing a tale where King Arthur dies early and Queen Guinevere must rule alone when she falls in love with Sir Lancelot," Edward explained. "In this story, Sir Galahad will be Queen Guinevere's brother who will be instrumental in helping the pair with their courtship and is reward with a nephew named for him."

"Will our relationship ever lose it's allure to you?" Robert asked bemused, an eyebrow raised.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. There is absolutely no connection to real life. Although I did have another idea about King Edward III and Philippa of Hainault but in the play they will have meet as children and King Edward will of course spend most of his days driving his siblings insane by reading every single letter she ever wrote to him like they are the most exciting piece of literature anyone has ever written," Edward continued mischievously, not even trying to conceal his smirk.

George threw his brother a glare, deciding not to respond to the thinly veiled jibe at his expense.

"I am sorry to interrupt but there is somebody who wishes to meet her father," the Duchess of Pembroke announced cheerfully.

The red-haired monarch's eyes lit up with joy and he immediately raced into his wife's chambers. He didn't care about the sex, as long as she was healthy nothing else mattered.

Marguerite had tears in her eyes as she rocked their daughter back and forth but unlike the year before, there was no desperation and devastation in her expression. Just love and joy.

Still neither of them would comment on how healthy the newborn looked least that would tempt fate and they were forced to bury another tiny coffin.

"She's beautiful," George breathed as he cuddle up close to his wife and daughter. "Henry Francis will be very happy to meet her." A part of him wanted to ask if they should name her Margret but he supposed that would tempt fate too. "Let's name her Anne after my mother and sister. She can be another Annette."

"I think that sounds wonderful," Marguerite agreed, resting her head on her husband's chest.

* * *

Prince Henry Francis of Wales beamed at the courtiers as he walked by them, waving at each one of them, greeting them excitedly.

He lapped up the attention eagerly, enjoying how they treated him but their praise was nothing compared to the sight of the two people waiting for him when he entered his mother's apartments. Not even bothering to greet anyone else he ran up to his Aunt Elizabeth, smiling broadly when she greeted him with a kiss, making sure to give her two in return.

Then he turned to his Uncle Edward and was about to give him the same treatment when he remembered what his governess said about Uncle Edward's accident and he pondered how he was supposed to greet his uncle now.

"Alas, I cannot rise to greet you, lad, so you best come here to me," Edward remarked, patting his lap. When Henry Francis still looked unsure, he grinned at the boy. "Franny, I promise you I won't feel a thing so come on now, up you go."

Not wanting to disappoint his uncle, Henry Francis did as he was told, climbing onto Edward's lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.

"Are you still going to teach me how to sword fight?" Henry Francis asked curiously, remembering how his uncle had told him that one day he would show Henry-Francis how to wield a real sword.

"I've still got two working arms, don't I?" Edward pointed out, giving his nephew a squeeze. "Now go on and see your parents. Be sure to tell your mother that I think you would make a wonderful Edward, the Black Prince."

"Uncle Edward, you're so odd," Henry Francis declared much to his governess' horror and everyone else's amusement.

"Oh you have no idea," Edward laughed as his nephew got off his lap and was taken to the bedchamber to see his parents and newborn sister.

* * *

"Princess Anne, I like that name," Henry Francis decided once he was told his new sister's name.

His governess had returned to outer chamber while Henry Francis was now on his mother's bed in between his father and mother.

"Well if the Prince of Wales approves than it is decided," Margot declared, tickling her son with her free hand.

"Now Henry-Francis, you are a big brother, do you know what that means?" George asked.

"It means I have a little sister," Henry Francis replied cheekily. His father lightly smacked his head. "I know what it means Papa, the Duke of Wiltshire already told me. It means I have to look out for them."

"That's right," George told him, smiling lovingly at his son.

"Is that Edward the Black Prince did? Uncle Edward said I would make a wonderful Edward the Black Prince," Henry Francis informed his parents.

Judging from his mother's confused expression and the eye-roll from his father, Henry Francis decided that no that was not what his Uncle Edward had meant.

* * *

** _May 19 1552 _ **

Anne had gotten sick almost three months ago and it was only due to her illness that she had not been able to travel to court to comfort her paralyzed son. Thankfully he had been brought to Hever so she could see him one last time before she died.

She would not get to say goodbye to Annette. How Anne wished she could have one minute with her oldest daughter, telling her how proud she was of her, promising her that despite being disappointed for all of five minutes, she had loved Annette more than she could express.

She wished she could tell George how amazed she was by his compassion and his loyalty. Despite his hatred of Catholics, he still allowed them to practice their faith, only executing them if they rebelled against him and refused to recant their traitorous ways. He was a noble king and a devoted husband.

Edward, her sweet, dear Edward. Henry was a proud man and she was certain if he was in Edward's place, he would have hated it, feeling weak and useless, believing he was less of a man for not only his disability but also for his lack of a son. Edward, on the other hand, did not care that he and Magdalena would have no children other than their daughter nor did the lose of being able to walk stop him from living his life to the fullest.

Her Owen was gone. The baby of the family. He had so much potential but alas he never got to utilize it. At least she would see him again soon.

And then there was Elizabeth. She could have been a queen but instead she chose to stay in England happy to be a duchess instead. However, she did not allow herself to slip in obscurity and had written many pamphlets about various subjects.

Anne was brought out of her thoughts by the door opening. She smiled when she saw Thomas Cranmer.

"I didn't know the Archbishop of Canterbury made house calls," Anne quipped, extending her hand for him to lay a kiss.

"I do when it concerns an old friend, Your Majesty," Cranmer replied, smiling sadly at her. "After all I used to be the Boleyn's chaplain before you raised me to where I am today so it's only right that I take your last confession."

"I'm not dead yet," Anne snapped, knowing it was only a matter of time. The doctor said her illness had become terminal.

George could barely look at her. And dear sweet Kitty had not been able to stop crying when she visited her.

As for her children, they seemed determined to ignore her illness and talk instead about everything else. Georgie told her about how he was certain that Annette looked like her two namesakes and how Edward was a terrible influence on Henry Francis, Elizabeth read the letter from the original Annette and Edward just joked how both of them were being so lazy lying around in bed all day.

Thinking of her four children and knowing she would see Owen and her other loved ones in heaven, Anne closed her eyes with a smile on her face.

Archbishop Thomas Cranmer wiped away his tears as he said a final prayer before declaring to those outside the room: "She who has been the Queen of England on Earth has become a Queen in Heaven"

* * *

**So I just gave myself a writing lesson that everyone probably already knows. When you make a character, don't just do it for symbolism, give him some bearing on the plot. Half-way through writing this chapter I realized that Owen kept failing to show up so I had to kill him off, otherwise everyone would be wondering where he is.**  
**A bit of a characterization note: Edward does not like unhappiness. He refuse to let other people (like his best friend and his sister) be unhappy and he sure as heck isn't going to be unhappy. Getting crippled sucks but Edward refused to see it like that. I hope I conveyed that he's not under-reacting to something devastating, he's refusing to be devastated by it (even if he feels it deep down).**  
**Also about Mary, I want to point out that she has two relatives (Queen Joanna of Spain and King Henry V) who were deemed unsuitable for the throne, so she is not being unreasonable to think her son might be called to take the throne from his half-brother.**  
**Speaking of unstable stepsons, thoughts on Carlos's interactions with Annette? By the by, although I went back and forth on the Annette being the Queen of France or Spain, I always had a scene where Emperor Charles overhears Annette singing the lullaby Mary taught her and recognizing it as his mother's lullaby. Those two scenes where he's nice are basically my apology for making him a villain in my other story.**  
**Thoughts on Henry-Francis? His chapter is next and also the last chapter.**


	18. God Works in Mysterious Ways

**Okay, guys last chapter. Once again I would like to remind you that my non-completed Tudor stories are over on Archive of our own under the same pen name.**

**Please excuse me for tooting my own horn but...**

**14,000 words! A new record! 18 chapters! A new record! Over 100,000 words! A new record! I am celebrating!**

* * *

** _February 6 1564 _ **

** _Scotland _ **

Queen Mary of Scots had been a widow for almost four years. She was now searching for a second husband among Europe's princes. The only suitable prince England had to offer was the Prince of Wales who was soon to be eighteen.

However, her councilors, even those who were Protestant, were not keen on her marrying a prince who would one day becoming the king of another country especially a country that had been their enemy for centuries.

As for Mary herself, she longed to marry a Catholic prince who could help her rid her country of hearsay. But her half-brother, the Earl of Moray saw things differently, believing that uniting England and Scotland in bounds of matrimony was the best course for his queenly sister. Despite the fact that he was of the reformed faith, Mary knew he was firmly loyal to her and she was always willing to hear his thoughts on the matter, assured that he was not trying to undermine her.

"Your Majesty, Scotland is not France, much has changed, more and more of your subjects have turned to the reformation and they look at you as an enemy. If you marry a Catholic prince, they will view it as an act against them and it may incite them to rebel against you," James told her. "King George has been tolerant with his Catholic subjects, not even the Pope's bull of excommunication caused him to lash out at them. If you were to marry his son, your Protestant subjects would begin to accept you once they realize their faith isn't in danger."

"Including yours," Mary pointed out, an eyebrow raised.

"I do not deny that I will benefit if you choose to be more tolerant towards the Scottish reformation but I also know that things like faith are never as simple as people believe they are," James declared, not at all offended by her suspicions. In fact, if anything, he was pleased that familiar bounds did not blind her, proving that she had a good head upon her shoulders. "If you want to win your subjects' love, compromises must be made."

Mary sighed, her brother's words were too true to be dismissed. Growing up in the French court had already made her a little better than a foreigner to her subjects and the fact that she was Catholic did not help her imagine among her people when the majority had accepted the Reformation or at the very least were leaning towards it.

"I shall think about it," she decided.

Her half-brother smiled sadly at her, half-wishing he could hold her hand or embrace so she would feel comforted but she would not appreciate him acting as though she was a child who needed to be held. "It is not easy to hold the crown but I promise you that I shall be by your side, severing you loyally until the end of my days," he proclaimed, making a deep bow.

"Were our father married to your mother, I am certain you would not have to deal with as much opposition as I do," Mary remarked bitterly, knowing that half of the dislike she got was because she was a woman and therefore "unworthy" to be the sole ruler of the Scots.

"We can never know if that would be the case and I must say, dear sister, I am glad that our father did not marry my mother because then you would never have been born and that would have been a great tragedy," the earl declared.

Mary wasn't quite sure she believed him, after all her brother was not so altruistic that he would not jump at the chance of being king but she gave a grateful nod anyway. "Send for William Maitland and tell him that I am sending him back to England, this time to start marriage negotiations."

"As you wish, my Queen," her brother replied, bowing again before leaving her apartments, leaving her to mull over what he had told her.

She did not need to know that he had secretly been in communication with the Lord Chancellor of England, discussing the match between Prince Henry Francis and Queen Mary for the past two years.

The Earl of Moray had not been lying when he told his sister that he was worried that her subjects would rebel against her if she pushed the Counter-Reformation on their country. However, he was not so blind to realize that with a powerful Catholic husband, she might succeed in banishing the true religion from Scotland, causing rivers of blood to flood Scotland.

* * *

** _May 1 1564 _ **

** _Scotland_ **

The Mayday celebrations were quite grand this year even without the joust-after what had happened to her former father-in-law and to the Duke of York, the Queen of Scots decided that her court would not partake in such a dangerous sport anymore. Thankfully the tennis match and the masked ball that followed was more than enough to make up for the excitement of a joust.

As a young widow not to mention queen, Mary was expected to join in on the fun, although her jeweled tiara gave away who she was and it seemed that every young gentleman was eager to win a dance with her.

Mary was now on her fourth dance partner and she had no intention of slowing down. Although, she could not see his face, Mary was intrigued by her new dance partner as she was certain he was English and she had a hunch he was not part of the English ambassador's entourage.

"So tell my lord, what brings you to my country?" Mary asked.

"To meet you, Your most Graceful and Lovely Majesty. I have heard tale of your breathtaking beauty and your guile spirt and I just had to meet you," the red-haired man replied, his eyes twinkling merrily as he spun her around.

"You are as charming as you are a good dancer," Mary complimented him, her curls bouncing as she laughed. "But I feel that you have an advantage that I do not. For while you know who I am, I know nothing but the country of your birth."

"Ah but would that not ruin the mystery of the masquerade, Your Majesty?" the stranger pointed out, his smile now mischievous.

"True but at least give me your name so I may call you something other than my lord and good sir."

"Francis but my uncle calls me Franny," the man replied, grinning wolfishly.

"Your uncle sounds like he is quite a character," Mary remarked.

"Oh, you have no idea, Your Majesty," the man replied, laughing fondly. "What he lacks in mobility, he more than makes up for in personality." 

Mary almost froze, a suspicious eyebrow shooting up on her forehead. There was not a person in all of England, Ireland or Scotland who did not know of the Duke of York's lack of mobility and most were aware of his chipper outlook as even those who were openly mocking of the Tudor brood admired how he did not allow being an invalid stop him from living his life to the fullest. And there was only one nephew the Duke of York had whose name was Francis.

"Tell me your full name," Mary commanded, guessing that this was no coincidence.

"Prince Henry Francis of Wales, at your service, Your Majesty," Henry Francis answered as the song ended and he let go of her to making a sweeping bow.

Mary placed her hand on his arm, allowing him to lead her to a corner of the room so they could continue their conversation. She ignored the eyes of her courtiers watching them curiously, gossiping over who the Queen's mystery companion was and what the significance of her wishing to speak to him privately was.

"What were you trying to achieve by hiding your identity, Your Highness?" Mary inquired, although her tone was playful as she was certain he had not meant to offend her. "Was this some devious plot to charm me into revealing my secrets?"

"I can assure you that my motives were purely altruistic. I merely wished to get to know you and hear your honest opinion on myself without worry that you would guard your opinion," Henry Francis explained, beaming at her. "Of course if you want to know my opinion of you, I can assure you that I shall be brutally honest in telling you just how charming, witty and lovely I find you."

"You are a shameless flatter. I beg of you, don't stop," Mary giggled, unable to stop herself from smiling, enjoying his praise.

"When I first learned that my father was in negotiations for us, I was going to write you a letter but then I found myself unable to find anything to write to you about as I felt I knew nothing about you so I decided that I would have to meet you. That very next day, I left Ludlow and traveled to Scotland as fast as I could," Henry Francis continued. "I think Lady Margaret Howard was quite shocked when I arrived at her door but thankfully the good countess was willing to allow me to stay for a few days after giving me a bit of a tongue lashing about my lack of etiquette."

"She dared scold the Prince of Wales," Mary repeated in disbelief.

As the niece of the late King Henry, half-sister to the late King James and married to the English ambassador, Thomas Howard, the Countess of Orkney was well-admired but she still ranked below Prince Henry Francis and Mary could not see her aunt being so bold.

"Well I didn't obtain permission from my father to come here," Henry Francis admitted, having the decency to look somewhat abashed. However, that only lasted for a moment before he grinned again. "However whatever punishment I face from my father will be well worth it for spending an evening with you."

"You are charming as you are bold," Mary laughed, lapping up the compliments he lavished on her eagerly.

They spent the rest of the evening talking about mundane topics and by the time they parted Mary decided that perhaps marrying him wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

** _ June 14 1564 _ **

** _England _ **

King George had not been pleased when he learned his son had traveled from Ludlow to Scotland on a whim, forgoing his duties to go court the Scottish queen. However, he found that he could not stay mad at his eldest son who pointed out that if he stayed in Scotland for a few weeks, he could work on winning over the people of Scotland as well as their queen.

Eventually Henry Francis returned to England, having spent an entire month as a guest in the Scottish court, getting to know not only Mary but her people.

Before returning to Wales, he had decided to make two detours: one to London to apologize to his father inn person but firstly he went to visit Hatfield to visit his younger siblings.

After years of being an only child, the birth of Princess Annette had been the first of four more siblings for the Prince of Wales. After her birth she was followed by Princess Elizabeth, Princess Madeline and Prince Charles Edward.

(Before the birth of Charles George, King George had been torn choosing between Charles George and Edward Owen. Upon hearing this, the Duke of York had asked what George would do if Marguerite had already given birth to three sons taking the names of their fathers and brothers; to which Henry Francis had replied, perhaps he would have chosen something more original. Luckily the king was too busy fretting over his wife to take any offense).

Although the Prince of Wales could not claim to have close relationship with them as his father did with his siblings, a rather unfortunate consequence of the large age gap between them, Henry Francis still doted on them and went out of his way to spend as much time with them as his duties as the head of the Welsh council would allow.

However, on this particular day, it seemed that he was not the only one who decided to visit the royal children.

"Push me faster. The Princess Madeline wants to ride on her uncle's lap and she isn't expecting a leisurely stroll!" Edward admonished the groom pushing his wheelchair. "Goodness knows this is the only way I can play horsie or in my case, I suppose it would be playing carriages."

"It's my turn next!" Bess cried, running alongside her uncle and her sister.

"Harry!" Annette exclaimed. At the age of twelve, she did not partake in her sisters' fun, feeling she was too old for such childishness. And yet, she still ran into her eldest brother's outstretched arms, beaming at him as she kissed his cheeks.

"You!" Edward exclaimed in mock anger, jabbing his finger at his oldest nephew. "I am furious with you!"

"Hello Uncle Ned, it's good to see you too," Henry Francis greeted him pleasantly, making sure to give Madeline and Beth kisses as well before turning to the Duke of York. "What have I done to displease you?"

"You took off to Scotland, incognito, telling barely anybody where you were going and you don't think to include your favorite uncle in your little escapade," Edward exclaimed.

"Well Uncle Robin was busy," Henry Francis replied, his brow furrowed in mock confusion as if he thought the Duke of York was really talking about Robert Dudley instead of himself.

Edward gaped at him as his nephew and nieces tried not to laugh. "Why you cheeky little welp," he grumbled.

"Forgive me, Uncle, it was an impulsive decision and I didn't want anyone outside my circle to know in fear that Father would find out and put a stop to my plans," Henry Francis explained.

His uncle did not look as though he believed the young prince but before he could say another word they were interrupted by a newcomer having just woken from his nap.

"Harry! Harry!" Charles shouted from his governess' arms as she brought him to his siblings. Even at the tender age of two, Charles revered his older brother and was overjoyed whenever he saw him.

Henry Francis smiled lovingly, picking Charles up and swinging him around to which Charles responded with much laughter.

"It's good to see you, little brother. Is it just me or have you gotten taller than I last saw you?" Henry Francis asked, trying not to grimace as he felt the small bump on his brother's back.

Whether it had been complications in his mother's pregnancy or if it was merely a genetic defect that both her ancestors and the ancestors of her husband had been known to suffer from, Prince Charles George had been born as a hunchback.

However despite his deformity, he was a healthy boy, energetic and clever. God willing, much like their Uncle Edward, Charles would not let his disability impede his life goals and he would become either a formidable solider or a crafty statesman.

"Harry, will you tell us about your trip to Scotland?" Madeline asked eagerly, getting off her uncle's lap-not even noticing that Bess had quickly taken her place, having not forgotten that it was her turn.

"Oh yes, I want to hear all about the Scottish Queen," Annette said, intrigued by the prospect of a woman ruler.

Soon Henry Francis was sitting with Charles on his lap, Annette and Madeline on either side of him, Edward and Beth sitting near by as he regaled his time in Scotland.

* * *

Meanwhile over at Hampton Court Palace, courtiers were ambling about in the Great Hall, most in different little groups discussing trivial things.

"It is like they are their grandfathers reborn," John Dudley remarked as he watched the Duke of Wiltshire and the Duke of Norfolk whispering together, glaring at Sir William Cecil and Nicholas Bacon as if they had personally offended them.

Robert glanced up at the two young dukes. With George Boleyn and Henry Howard dead, their sons had inherited their titles and they had expected to inherit their royal favor as well.

Unfortunately for them, despite their family ties and their noble ranks, King George preferred his council being of men who had worked hard to get where they were and would continue to work hard. He had no plans on making two of councilors give up their posts to make room for Thomas Howard or John Boleyn, regardless of their blood relation to him.

Of course to them, this was the fault of the two men who would most likely lose their spots on the King's Privy Council. Instead of waiting patiently until those positions were vacant, they choose to sulk about it like petulant children.

"It's probably not helped by the fact that we have the states of office, their fathers and grandfathers once held," Robin remarked.

"Speaking of you, my son, I hear they have started a rumor saying that your place on the council is only for show that everyone knows that your wife uses you as her mouthpiece," John jested, giving his son a sly grin.

"Then they are fools for Elizabeth does not need to use me when she can just go tell her brother her opinion," Robert said coolly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

Elizabeth was certainly a strong outspoken woman but she would lord her higher status over her husband. Although Robert could not deny, that most of his decisions, he had a lengthy discussion with his wife first but she had done the same when it came to matters of statecraft where the people of her duchy were concerned.

He treated her with the respect and loved she deserved and in return she did the same for him. 

Speaking of Elizabeth, she was currently in Pembroke, taking care not only their estates but also their children.

Robert could not help but miss them greatly especially when he had to put by with so many nobles turning up their noses at him.

"Forgive me, Father, but I think I have a toothache so perhaps I should retire," Robert lied, wishing to return to his rooms so he could read Elizabeth's letter again as she detailed how Owen, Robert and Edward were shaping up to be skilled swordsmen and how little Mary was learning faster than most girls her age and how she was so sick of being pregnant.

"Don't forget to send my love to my daughter and grandchildren," John told him with a knowing smile, clapping his son on the shoulder to show that he was not put out by Robert's blatant lie.

Despite having seven living children, only John, Robert and Mary had given him any grandchildren. Although he loved them all, especially the children of his heir, the Duke of Northumberland could not help but be slightly prouder of Robert's children as they had royal blood flowing in their veins.

"I wouldn't dream of forgetting, Father," Robin laughed as he walked away, maneuvering around the courtiers who stood between him and his apartments.

Once he arrived at his chambers, he sat down at his desk to write a letter to his wife, assuring her that he would be home in a fortnight and they would greet their next child into the world together.

* * *

The royal gardens were as lovely as they always were especially at this time of the year and it might have been George's imagination but the flowers were looking especially lovely today. He had asked the gardeners to pick out a bouquet of the finest flowers they could find, intending it to be a gift for his lady love.

Once he had a bouquet of roses and daisies in his hand, he quickly made his way to his wife's rooms, fully prepared to remind Margot of his love and devotion to her. As he entered, he remembered a conversation they had almost a decade ago, about how in twenty years, he might find himself falling for another woman. How glad he was to prove her wrong.

He waited until the ladies-in-waiting had left the room before kneeling down before his queen, presenting her with flowers.

"For the queen of my heart," he gushed.

Margot beamed at him. "These are beautiful, my love, thank you," she said sweetly, kissing his lips before taking the flowers from him. She then quirked an eyebrow and gave him a knowing look. "Is there a special occasion or has Elizabeth spilled my secret?"

It seemed that Margot knew him too well. George sighed, taking a seat next to his wife, with a somewhat embarrassed expression upon his face.

"I can count, Margot, and I know that I have not been out of your bed once for the past four months and as you have made no announcement, I put two and two together," George explained, still being vague as he did not want to call attention to the fact that his wife was now experiencing menopause.

"I actually did think I was pregnant at first. After all, Charles was a surprise so maybe we were in for another surprise. I admit I get excited and I wrote to Elizabeth, believing we were pregnant at the same time for once but then the doctor told me I wasn't pregnant and I would never get pregnant again," Margaret admitted, looking down at the flowers so her husband wouldn't see the unshed tears in her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" George asked, reaching out to stroke her hair.

"Because I know you will coddle me and even if I weren't five-years-older, I would still find it stifling," Marguerite explained, cupping his face with her hand and stroking his cheek. "Don't get me wrong, my love, I adore you and it makes me happy that you love me so much that you can't go a minute without lavishing me with gifts and affection but there are times when it feels like you are treating me like a child."

"I'm sorry, Margot, I don't mean to make you feel like that," George apologized earnestly.

"I know you don't that's why I try not to feel annoyed when you do. And if I do get annoyed, I think about a certain four-year-old boy-" Margot began.

"Oh no," George muttered, guessing where this was going. 

"-who was so nervous when we were dancing that he kept looking at his feet and yet somehow he kept stepping on my foot and my dress," Marguerite continued, her tone teasing.

"Four-year-olds are not known to be good dancers," George defended himself, praying that Edward never found out otherwise he would no doubt it would find its way into the play he was writing.

"I had no idea what would come from that but I knew I wanted to befriend you so I made sure you knew that you could always be open and honest with me even if it meant my dress would be stepped on," Margot teased him.

"And do you feel that you can't be honest with me?" George asked.

"Of course I know that but sometimes I think you do too much for me. Remember, when I first came to England, twenty-years-ago and we went to Ludlow, I found out that you had imported tapestries from France, made sure that the kitchens were stocked with my favorite food and had made sure that daisies were everywhere in the garden. You told me that you wanted me to feel at home and I loved you for that," Marguerite remembered. "But you don't have to keep reminding me how much you love me every day. You have already made it clear."

"I'm sorry but while I promise that I'll try not to go overbroad with gifts, I am afraid that I cannot stop showering you with affection," George said softly. "However, I do promise that I will stop treating you like you might break. I know I can get fussy to use Edward's word."

Marguerite smiled at him, kissing George's lips. "I would have told you eventually but I felt it was a small matter."

"With you there are no small matters," George informed her.

"You are incorrigible," Marguerite giggled. George suddenly stood up and scooped her up in his arms, causing her to lose her grip of the flowers sending them tumbling to the floor. "George, the flowers."

"Someone can pick up the flowers later, right now, I wish to lavish you with affection," George told her, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Well if my king commands that he wishes for us to forsake our duties for the day and return to bed than I must obey," Marguerite said coyly, wrapping her arms around George's neck as she kissed him again, this time passionately.

* * *

Meanwhile miles away at Pembroke Castle, Elizabeth Tudor frowned at the letter from the Duchess of Suffolk. It seemed that Johnny was making a nuisance of himself, getting into an argument with Sir Nicolas Bacon, believing he had stolen the position of Lord of the Privy Seal, believing that because his father and grandfather had those exhalated positions, he was owed that position. He seemed to have forgotten that it was not a hereditary position and ultimately it was up to the King to give out these posts to whoever he felt was fit for the role instead of just hiring his relatives.

She was certain that if Uncle George and Aunt Anna were watching from heaven, they would be shaking their heads at their son's behavior. Uncle George in particular would be aghast at his son acting like his father.

Elizabeth smiled sadly as she thought of her uncle. Despite the many loses in his life, the late Duke of Wiltshire had never stopped being the fun-loving man she remembered in her childhood.

When he died, it had been like losing her mother all over again.

"Your Highness, there are some petitioners requesting an audience with you," her steward announced, bringing the princess out of her thoughts.

"Thank you, Roger. Please make sure that the kitchens have prepared two baskets each of victuals for them to take home to their families," Elizabeth commanded, placing the letter down on the desk before making her way to her audience chamber.

Although she was a mere duchess and was aware that every decision she made would have to be approved by her nephew-as head of the council of the Welsh Marshes-not to mention her brother, she still enjoyed using the power she did have to make her subjects lives easier. She considered herself the mother of the people of Pembroke as much as she was the mother of her children.

The first two petitioners were two brothers; the younger one, a merchant, explained that his brother could not speak English and he was here to translate before Elizabeth could inform him that she spoke Welsh, the older brother said something to his brother that if he knew Elizabeth could understand, she doubted her would have said it.

"Where is her husband? Shouldn't he be the one we should be talking to?" the Welsh shopkeeper asked, sounding more confused than annoyed.

"She is the Duchess of Pembroke in her own right," his brother pointed out. "Lord Dudley is just an earl."

"But surely he is the one who makes the decisions."

"I can assure you gentlemen that my husband's status has nothing to do with how I handle the statecraft of my domain," Elizabeth explained in Welsh, suppressing a smirk when she saw the looks of horror on the men's faces. Ten years ago, Henry-Francis had expressed an interest in learning Welsh, Elizabeth had decided to learn alongside him, wanting to be fluent in a language that her Tudor ancestors had once been fluent in. "I can also assure you that my gender will not impede my ability to help you."

"Forgive me, Your Highness," the shopkeeper apologized, bowing deeply, having the good grace to look ashamed.

Elizabeth just waved her hand dismissively; he was not the first and would not be the last to express such thoughts-although she did wonder why those who came to see her still didn't realize she was fluent in Welsh. It would save them the embarrassment when they said something impolite in front of her, believing she wouldn't understand.

* * *

** _March 29 1565 _ **

** _Scotland _ **

"This is absurd. You have nothing to prove," Mary told him firmly.

"This isn't about proving anything- although I have no doubt that if I don't show up today, your suitor will waste no time calling me a coward," Henry Francis pointed out, a frown on his face as he practiced his lunge.

"I could have him arrested as duels are illegal," Mary pointed out.

"And then people will say you are protecting me from a fight you believe I would lose," Henry Francis countered. Mary let out a huff and turned her back on him. The Prince of Wales put down his sword and wrapped his arms around her. "Mary, my queen, I do not want to do this but my honor is at stake, I cannot let his insults stand."

"What good is honor if you are a dead man?" Mary scoffed but she did not fight his embrace and instead sank into it.

In February, Mary had met the son of the Earl of Lennox, a distant cousin of hers. She had found Henry Stuart charming and handsome. Had she not been otherwise engaged, the young queen would certainly have married him instead.

However, she soon realized how lucky she was to have met Henry Francis first, as her refusal of his proposal brought out a darker side of Lord Darnley. He soon proved himself to be bad-tempered and arrogant, publicly decrying the Prince of Wales, calling his grandmother a whore, his father a weak heretical fool, his uncle a foppish cripple and perhaps worst of all, mocking his three-year-old brother for being a hunchback.

Henry Francis was not a man who could get riled up-he and his father rarely ever showcased the famous Tudor temper-but once Darnley challenged him to a duel, the Prince of Wales agreed much to Mary's displeasure.

"Have some faith in me, my sweet. Darnley will not win this fight. I shall beat him," Henry Francis told her gently, kissing her cheek chastely before brandishing her ribbon. "For I have a good luck token from the Queen of Scots herself. I shall win the duel in her honor as well as my own."

A sardonic laugh escaped Mary's lips before she let out a sigh. "Just be careful, Henry, I do not want to lose another man I love most ardently," she whispered as she turned around and pressed her forehead to his.

"I promise you that I shall not let you down," he murmured, wanting nothing more than to kiss her lips but he doubted their chaperones would allow this.

One of the Mary's ladies announced the arrival of one of Lord Darnley's grooms.

"Your Highness, Lord Darnley is ready whenever you are," he proclaimed.

As Queen, Mary could not watch the duel as it was illegal and she at least had to pretend not to know what was going on. However, she sent her half-brother to act as Henry-Francis' witness and second.

* * *

When Henry Francis, two of his grooms and the Earl of Moray arrived at the clearing where the duel was to take place, Lord Darnley was lounging against a tree, joking around with his friends.

Despite this being an illegal event, Henry Francis could see courtiers wondering about the grounds pretending to be just walking instead of deliberately stopping so they could observe the duel.

"Good marrow Your Grace, I hope you are well," Henry Francis greeted Darnley with false cheer. He knew that so-called nobleman would not return his polite greeting but then one of the things he liked doing was being unflinchingly polite in the face of Henry Stuarts' rudeness as it often made him look worse than his boorishness already did.

"I'm surprised you came, Your Highness, as I thought you had returned to England to hide behind your mother's skirts," Darnley jeered.

"Why would I do that?" Henry Francis drawled, affecting confusion. "Is that what you do when you are asked to defend your family's honor?"

Darnley's eyes flashed in anger as those who heard Henry Francis sarcastic response tittered in amusement.

"Let's just get on with this," the Scottish lord snarled, taking out his sword and walking towards the Prince of Wales.

Henry Francis nodded before taking out his own and getting into the right stance.

Darnley sneered at Henry Francis as he threw an overhand cut to which Henry Francis parried quickly, reflexively. Darnley continued to throw overhand cuts to which the Prince of Wales continued to parry.

As they kept moving back and forth, their swords clashing, Henry Francis knew he had to start thinking instead of continuing to deflect the same blows over and over again. The same blows. Lord Darnley kept using an overhand cut, not even trying another move. Well it was time to use that against him.

With the next cut, Henry Francis parried high, thrust the point of his sword leaving a nasty gash on Lord Darnley's face, causing the man to leap back in both pain and surprise, knocking the bloodied sword away from him. But Henry Francis was not deterred and he lunged forward, closing the line and pushing Darnley backwards until he was against a tree with Henry Francis' sword at his throat.

"Do you yield?" Henry Francis demanded.

"Scotland will never accept an English King of on the Scottish throne," Darnley spat, blood running down from his cheek and dripping until the sword against his throat.

"Unlike you, I have a kingdom to inherit and therefore I have no need to take my wife's kingdom," Henry Francis pointed out. "Besides what makes you think that Scotland would accept a arrogant knave like yourself as their king."

Darnley growled and headbutted Henry Francis, knocking him down to the ground much to the shock of the crowd.

The Scottish Lord then stood on Henry Francis' hand when the prince tried to grab his sword, swinging his own sword over his head, his eyes murderous. Seconds before he could drive his sword into the Prince of Wales' hearth the Earl of Morley decided to intervene.

"Enough! Lord Henry Darnley, on orders of the Queen, I am putting you under arrest for breaking the law against dueling!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers so the two guards who had hidden themselves among the crowd of spectators could come disarm Darnley and grab him.

"What about the Prince of Wales? Why hasn't he been arrested?" Henry Steward demanded, not even strolling against the guards, perhaps knowing that resisting arrest would only make things worse.

"Because he is not one of Queen Mary's subjects and therefore it is not her place to punish him," the Earl of Morey replied, his tone bland.

Henry Francis doubted there was a person there who didn't see through that excuse-furthermore they could also guess that King George was unlikely to call for his son's arrest even if the Queen of Scots demanded it-however Lord Darnley's underhanded and nearly murderous actions were enough to keep them from grumbling.

* * *

As for the Prince of Wales, he was escorted back to the Queen's apartments where she embraced him lovingly.

"Are you all right?" she asked worriedly, studying him to make sure he had no scratches. There was a bruise forming on his forehead and his hand had a partial boot print but other than that he was no worse for the wear.

"I am fine, dearest as I told you I would be," Henry Francis assured her, not even admonishing her for her intervention as she had never promised not to arrest Lord Darnley after their duel was over. "But I admit I am thankful for your brother as he saved my life. It seems that Lord Darnley is very much a poor sport and was unwilling to lose."

"Well I shall be sure to exile him from the court until his behavior improves," Mary said, her mouth a thin line before her expression softened and her tone turned regretful. "Unfortunately, to keep up appearances, I will have to banish you for a short time just so it won't look like I'm playing favorites.

"I know, Mary, and although I will hate to be away from you, I know that even if you didn't exile me, my Father will no doubt punish me by forcing me to stay at Ludlow for the foreseeable future," Henry Francis said with a sigh.

He had decided not to mention the duel to his father, knowing King George would be fearful for his son's life and he would order Henry Francis not to go through with it. Once news reached the English court, the Prince of Wales would be summoned to be taken to task over his actions.

"Well we might not have to be apart for long. I was thinking that perhaps in a week or two, perhaps I could make a state visit to England and perhaps stay in Ludlow for a while," Mary suggested with a coy smile.

Henry Francis grinned at her before kissing her passionately, chaperones be damned. This woman would one day be his wife and together they would bring the golden age to England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales.

* * *

** _July 24 1568 _ **

** _Spain _ **

Queen Annette of Spain, Naples and the Low Countries was on her knees in the great chapel of the Royal Alcázar of Madrid, tears flowing down her cheeks as she begged God not to take Carlos away. She was here without her husband's consent or knowledge, lying to the guards that he had given her permission.

Neither she, Ferdinando, Isabel nor Catalina were not allowed to see their brother. Carlos' wife Elizabeth and their daughter Anna were allowed to visit him. While Annette had understood her husband's decision as her stepson had become increasingly erratic and violent over the years, he had always been kind and gently with both her and his wife.

However, she could not forget that the reason he was being locked away was because of his threats to commit regicide against his own father nor could she forget the conversation she just had with her stepson.

_"I'm sure that eventually your father will let you out of here," she lied comfortingly, holding his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. Philip had made it very clear that he believed that his son had the same sort of madness Queen Joanna had and therefore it was better for everyone if the Prince of Asturias was kept locked away. _

_"No, he won't. He hates me and wants me dead, Mother," Carlos contradicted, his tone cold with a trance of sorrow. "He hates me for he believes I am a monster. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps I am a monster."_

_"No. I don't believe it. You are not a monster. Perhaps a little troubled but I don't believe you truly wanted to kill your father," Annette told him firmly. "You are a good boy, I know you are." _

_"You and Elisabeth are perhaps the only ones who don't see me as a monster," Carlos said, his lighting with a smile before it turned into a dark grimace. "But in truth, Mother, I do not deserve your love as I have tried to murder my brother and sister."_

_Annette felt as though Carlos knocked the wind out of her lungs. "What?" _

_"When you were pregnant with them, I was so afraid that they would take you from me so I hit you in hopes you would miscarry," Carlos admitted, speaking as calmly as though they were discussing the weather. _

_"You were a child, Carlos, only five, there is no way you could have possibly wanted them dead," Annette protested, almost trying to convince herself of that as much as she was Carlos. _

_"Oh but I did, Mother, I remember feeling that hatred, that rage and I remember hoping that I was harming your child every time I hit you. I learned to love them because I knew you wanted me to but that doesn't change how I felt that day," Carlos told her, burying his face in her shoulder like he did as a child. "Do you hate me?"_

_"No, never," Annette replied, closing her eyes so she could shut out the horror she felt as what Carlos just told her. _

_"I am sick, Mama, very sick. I don't think I'm going to live for much longer," Carlos continued. "Will you take care of Elisabeth and Anna for me?" _

_"Of course I will," Annette promised, stroking his hair as they sat together. _

_Then he closed his eyes and minutes later, Annette found herself unable to rouse him. _

_Prince Carlos' birth mother had died when he was a babe in her arms and he died in his stepmother's arms. _

* * *

** _January 31 1569 _ **

** _Sweden _ **

Ten years ago last November, his mother had died; two years later, his father had joined her. King Gustav laid between his two wives, Katrina to his left and Mary to his right.

King John bowed to his father's coffin before kneeling down in front of his mother's tomb, addressing his words to her alone. As he spoke, he fingered the beads of her rosary, one that he had to keep hidden as many viewed it as proof of his Catholic allegiances.

"Did you ever regret giving up England so your half-brother could rule it?" John asked. He knew how much his mother loved his Uncle George but despite this he knew she often worried for England's soul as it continued to push the religious reforms. "Do you ever wish that you had instead fought for the crown? I realize that you lacked the means, Mother, but if you had them, would you have done it?"

He received no answer but then again, he didn't expect any.

"Like Father before me, I have liberated Sweden from a ruthless tyrant but I am unsure that everyone in Sweden agrees. They have elected me King but God only knows if I will be able to stay. I do what I can to preserve myself and my children. You chose my wife well, Mother. Whenever I ruffle the feathers, she smooths them over. Our children will be taught to be reformists like her but I shall be Catholic for I love you, Mother and I will not take a chance that I won't be reunited with you in heaven where I hope to meet my grandmother for I know she is as dear to you as you are to me."

John paused as he wiped his suddenly moist eyes. "You were always so strong and brave. Willing to bend when you needed to but still never betraying your faith or your principals. Father was a good king but if I wish to survive, I shall be more like you, doing the best for my country even if I disagree with the religion. I will be a King who you would be proud of, I promise."

* * *

** _February 14 1569_ **

** _Spain _ **

Infante Ferdinando, Prince of Austria, could not contain his scowl as he watched his father dance with his new queen. Not even a year after his mother's death, his father had remarried to his niece, the one who had supposed to be Ferdinando's bride.

No wonder William the Silent's instance that King Phillip had poisoned both Carlos and Annette were so believed when his father had scarcely mourned either of them.

Unwilling to be in the room a moment longer, Ferdinando got up, rather nosily and stormed out of the Great Hall, not caring that all eyes were on him as he left or that his father would be furious with him.

He could hear footsteps behind him and a delicate hand grabbed his arm, gently guiding him to her apartments, knowing full well that the king was more likely to leave his son alone if he found that he was not in his apartments but with his wife.

Isabella de' Medici was nine-years-older than Ferdinando, chosen in haste so Phillip's heir would not wifeless. She was to be married to Paolo Giordano I Orsini but rumors of a romance with her cousin had caused her betrothed to reject her. She was related to the Pope and the Queen Regent of France but she was not royalty herself. And yet his father had chosen her as his heir's bride.

When Ferdinando had first learned of this, just two months after his mother's death, he had been incensed and accused his father of doing this just to spite Annette who despite only being Carlos' stepmother and being the last person to see him alive was never suspected to having a hand in his death while Phillip was.

In fact, when Annette died just a short while afterwards, people claimed she had died of grief as it was well known how close she was to Carlos.

Still grieving his mother and hurt by his father's actions, Ferdinando had outright refused to marry a woman he believed was beneath him.

But in the end, he married Isabella and soon found himself attracted to her blithe spirit.

"You shouldn't get angry, Nando, you know that your father believes that he must have more sons so he can be sure that his dynasty will secured," Isabella told him softly, gently stroking his cheek.

"He never loved my mother and while I don't believe he killed her, I know he's glad she's dead," Ferdinando grumbled.

"Perhaps but that doesn't matter. What matters is we focus on our own children," Isabella pointed out.

"Was that an announcement?" Ferdinand asked hopefully, his eyes lighting up.

"I'm afraid not but eventually we shall have children and when we do, we will be as great as the last Ferdinando and Isabel," she prophesied. "And your mother's legacy will live on through them."

"I know you are right but for now I will just grieve my mother while everyone else toasts the new Queen Anne," Ferdinando muttered, trying to push down he felt towards his new stepmother.

Although he held no ill will towards his cousin, having befriended her when it was still thought she would be his wife, it still irked him that his mother was being replaced by a woman who had her name.

To him, there was only one Queen Anne and she was not the girl dancing with his father.

* * *

** _November 21 1569 _ **

** _England _ **

It had been almost a decade since he was excommunicated and the Catholics had kept their peace but now they chose to act. Instead of being outraged as he had every right to be, King George felt rather bemused that they had waited so long.

Perhaps it had to do with the fact that after many years of negotiations- and one attempt by a few Scottish lords led by Lord Darnley to abduct the Queen of Scots- Queen Mary and Henry Francis were finally married.

Or perhaps it was the Duke of Norfolk, fed up with not getting what he believed he was owed just by being a high ranking nobleman, that he chose to plot against his royal cousin instead with the help of Thomas Percy who had not learned from his father mistakes and the Earl of Westmorland.

Or perhaps it was the rumors that King Phillip was planning on invading England in the name of Prince Fernando who was an heir to the English throne through the late Queen Annette.

Whatever it was, thanks to the efforts of Sir Francis Walsingham and Duke John of Wiltshire, the rebels were quickly ambushed and taken prisoner with the conspirators captured and locked away in the Tower of London.

One glance at across the table, George could see that his cousin looked particularly smug, and not unreasonably so as he managed to play the part of double agent brilliantly and had won the prestige he so desperately wanted while the Duke of Norfolk was now disgraced and being charged with high treason.

"Gentlemen, while it disturbs me that despite being a loving king to my subjects even to those whose religion I loathe, they chose to attack me. When men rebelled against my father, they were all killed as my father refused to let any who defied him live," George recalled, causing the Duke of Northumberland to grimace. Perhaps he remembered how his father had been executed for no other reason than because King Henry had wanted a scapegoat to blame for his father's harsh taxes. Although George would not label his father a tyrant, he still found the idea of killing every single rebel far too bloodthirsty for his taste. "I have chosen to go a different road. While the leaders will be executed and their land and titles will taken from them, I shall spare those under their command if they swear their loyalty to me as their king and the head of their church."

Those who did not were the ones he could not trust and they would be executed along with the leaders of this rebellion. As for the rest, they would be sent back to their families, with warnings that if they joined another rebellion against the King, he would not be so merciful.

"Despite what many think it is not a sin to be merciful," the Duke of Northumberland remarked, his smile more genuine now.

"Even if I did not want to be merciful, I believe that the political climate demands it. I will not give Catholics reason to turn against me. Peace and prosperity have graced England because we have not participated in wars," George said firmly.

"If King Philip has his way, we might have no choice but to do so," William Cecil pointed out with a frown. "I would suggest setting aside some money so we may have a navy that will be able to defeat the Spanish armada."

"The Earl of Clinton is already seeing to that," George assured him, nodding his head. "We will not unprepared."

"And what of Scotland? Are they willing to help us win the war against Spain?" the Duke of Wiltshire inquired curiously.

"Gentlemen, this is mere speculation. We have no idea if King Philip is planning to invade or not," George said, tactfully avoiding the question.

After years of back and forth, Scotland had finally accepted Henry Francis as King Consort, making it clear that while they would accept him as Mary's husband, they would not allow him to rule them.

The last thing George wanted to do was muddy the waters by requiring them to help him in any wars. The two countries were not united yet and it would take time for them to overcome years of constant fighting. Being asked to participate in a war that only had to do with them because their queen with married to England's future king could make them frostier to the marriage, perhaps enough for rebellions to start.

If Scotland wanted to offer their men and guns when it turned out that Spain was indeed attacking, George would be grateful but he would not take advantage of his daughter-in-law for his own ends.

Especially when there were other alliances which would help him against Spain. His oldest daughter Annette would soon be married to the Crown Prince Henry of Navarre, Madeline would be married to Prince of Orange's oldest son and Bess would marry the Elector of Saxony's son. Dynastic marriages that would make the late Earl of Essex very proud.

England had gone through scares before, mostly horrible people who dared attack his innocent mother. If Spain attacked, then just like the crazy eyed groom who still hunted his nightmares even through decades had passed, they would be stopped by any means necessary and England would continue flourish no matter what tricks those despicable Catholics tried.

* * *

** _December 2 1569 _ **

Owena Tudor, the only child of the Duck and Duchess of York. Her father doted on her as much as he could and while her mother had loved equally as much, she was always careful to curb any bad behavior that Edward had caused by indulging their daughter too much. Although Owena knew full well how much of a prize she was on the marriage market, she had decided years ago that she would stay unwed. She had many suitors, both foreign and local but Owena was not so naive that she didn't know what they were really after her vast inheritance.

Her father was no miser but he was not as foolish as his detractors often portrayed him. If he gambled, it was never large amounts and any amount he on lavish parties would be made up by the money he had put in trade and other investments.

Eventually Magdalena's good sense rubbed off on Edward and in recent years he had stopped throwing so many masquerades and instead decide to write an epic, locking himself in his rooms for hours as he wrote.

As for Magdalena, she would often focus on statecraft or in working on building churches and hospitals in her husband's name.

Sometimes Owena would look into their studies and find that they had both fallen asleep at their desks.

Not wanting to disturb her father by ringing the bell for a groom to come and get him to bed, Owena gently shook her mother's shoulders.

"Mother, wake up, it's almost midnight," Owena called. As if on cue, the large grandfather clock in the study chimed loudly, starling her father into waking up as well.

"Whose idea was to put that in here," Edward grumbled as he rubbed his neck.

"Yours, dear," Magdalena replied. "You're the own who insisted on redecorating our entire palace, remember."

"I am in a wheelchair, all I can do was stare at those moth-eaten tapestries and those ragged old drapes," Edward griped, grabbing the bell so he could summon his groom to get him so he could be made ready to put into his bed. He then smiled at Owena and beckoned her to come to him, taking her hand in his. "Come here, my darling, girl, I have finished the first part of my epic. It is all about Owen Tudor and how his married a Queen and started our dynasty."

"Oh, are you going to write about all the Tudors, Father?" Owena asked curiously, wrapping her arms around her father's neck.

"From Owen to whatever great-nephew your cousin manages to sire," Edward replied, grinning. "This will be my masterpiece. I shall write our family history, showcasing the drama, the romance, the political intrigue. In a thousand years, it will be up there with Thomas More's _Utopia_ and Niccolò Machiavelli's _Prince_."

"Isn't that what you said about the play you have yet to finish?" Magdalena inquired with a raised eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk on her face.

"I am almost finished with the play. Is it my fault that I have been distracted with some many amazing ideas that have caused me to put my old work to the side?" Edward protested, causing Owena to bury her face in her father's shoulder so she could hide her smile. "Besides, George has forbidden me from basing any more characters off of our family members. So I must take out the scene where young Edward III steps on the feet of the Lady Phillipa while dancing."

"You could stick to historical accuracy, you know," Magdalena suggested.

"And where is the fun in that?" Edward asked, winking.

"All right, I think we should all go to bed. After all, we'll be leaving for court in a few days and I would like it if we got everything we need to do done," Magdalena decided, glancing over at the groom standing nearby. "Come here, darling and give your mother a kiss."

"Did you think I wouldn't, Mother?" Owena asked sweetly, stamping down any annoyance she had at being spoken to like a child. As her mother's only child, Magdalena was in rush to see her grow up, perhaps trying to pretend that in a few months her daughter would turn eight instead of eighteen.

"Well goodness knows, your father is trying to turn you against me," Magdalena drawled as Owena kissed her cheek. "Always making me out to be too serious."

"Maddy, Maddy, you are too serious. However, we love you in spite of that," Edward assured her, taking her hand in his, pulling her downwards so he could lay a kiss on her lips.

* * *

** _December 23 1569 _ **

** _Scotland_ **

Snow floated down onto the ground as the courtiers stayed warm indoors with both fur and wine as they celebrated Christmastide.

Now that he was King Consort of Scots, Henry Francis had left the Council of Welsh Marshes in the capable hands of his Aunt Elizabeth while he split his time between the English court and the Scottish court.

It was decided that the newlyweds would spend their first Christmastide in Stirling Palace and the next year, they would spend it with the English court.

Henry Francis had made friends with some of the Scottish courtiers and was having a spirited tennis match with James Hamilton. Despite being ten years older, James Hamilton still won the match.

"From now one, every time I play a tennis match, I shall insist you be my opponent until I can beat you," Henry Francis declared, shaking the man's hand. "It was an honor to play with you, Your Grace," he quickly added, just in case the Scotsman took his words to mean that next time he should lose on purpose. "At the very least, I can say I lost to a skilled player." 

"You are not so bad yourself, Your Highness," the Earl of Arran told him with a smile. "I will be honored to be your opponent for the foreseeable future. Perhaps we could play a game of chess sometime and see if we are matched intellectually as well as athletically."

"I would be delighted," Henry Francis replied before the two men grabbed the towels from the steward standing nearby and wiped off the sweats before they left the court to change back into their regular clothes.

Once Henry Francis arrived back at his apartments, he found his wife waiting for him.

"My queen, are there any laws on defeating the King Consort? Because if so I believe the Earl of Arran is due for a punishment. Perhaps we should conveniently forget the gift we bought for him," Henry Francis jested, fighting a grin.

"Although I would most certainly draw up a law that panders to your wounded pride, I think perhaps the punishment is a little too harsh," Mary teased, beaming at him. "However, since you mentioned gifts, I wanted to give you yours a little early."

"Oh? Well I certainly will not say no to a gift," Henry Francis assured her. "I must admit though, I don't think you will be able to top what you got me for my birthday that falcon was a beauty." He had named the fine bird Bullen as a nice nod to his grandmother's family's crest.

"I think my gift is ten times better than a falcon. Unfortunately, I won't be able to give you your gift for another seven months," Mary told him, smiling coyly.

Henry Francis's eyes widened and he dropped to his knees, putting his hands on her belly, looking up at her for confirmation. When she nodded, Henry Francis leapt to his feet, grabbing her hands and laying kisses on them.

"Oh my love, my love, this is perhaps the greatest gift you have ever given me," Henry Francis proclaimed.

"A prince for both of our kingdoms," Mary declared.

* * *

** _February 10 1570 _ **

Henry Francis was not a man who got angry easily. People used to say he was even more sweet-tempered than his father. But rage almost clouded his vision when he learned from a servant that there were men outside with barrels of gunpowder ready to blow up the house he was staying in.

He fought to keep himself calm as he ordered his groom to alert the guards before ordering the servant to take him where he had spotted the men, grabbing his clock and sword before he left.

It was still early dawn and most of the occupants of Old Provost were still asleep. Henry Francis had only woken up a few hours earlier and gotten dressed, deciding it was too lovely a day to waste a moment in bed. He had barely broken his fast before he was notified by a servant over what he had stumbled on.

The leader of these traitorous men was the Earl of Bothwell, another one of suitors, who was clearly unhappy with Mary's marriage to the Prince of Wales. It seemed that he could not live with the fact that not only was another man Mary's husband but also she was pregnant with his child, a boy who would God willing tie England and Scotland together.

It was bad enough that these men would harm innocent people just to kill a man they considered their enemy but if their plan succeeded, they would also kill their queen and her unborn child.

"May I help you gentlemen?" Henry Francis asked coldly, deciding to stall these men until his guards arrived. He didn't care if they attacked him, he needed to be sure that they didn't have a chance to blow up the house.

His grooms stood behind him with their swords drawn. While the men outnumbered them five to three, Henry Francis was certain that they could subdue the conspirators long enough for the guards to arrest all five.

The Earl of Bothwell and his men stared at the Prince of Wales in shock, having not expecting him to have caught them or perhaps to have the courage to approach them. They overcame their shock quickly and soon the peaceful morning was filled with shouting and swords clashing.

"Stop! I order you all to stop!" Mary shouted. Although she was wearing a robe, it was clear that she had rushed outside with barely any care of her appearance.

"Your Majesty, I-" James Hepburn began, looking aghast at how quickly his plot had gone from bad to worse. "Lord Darnley said you had departed to Holyrood."

Once again fury filled Henry Francis as he realized at once what must have happened. Instead of seeking to kill their queen and heir, the conspirators had only wanted him dead, either so Mary would be free to marry again or in hopes that England and Scotland would remain at odds. However Lord Darnley either in retaliation for being rejected or because his father would be Scotland's next king, meaning he would be next in line for the throne had lied to the conspirators that Mary was safely away from her husband, in hopes they would kill her along with her husband.

Never before had the Prince of Wales had such a desire to drive his sword into someone else's chest.

"What in heaven's name were you thinking?" Mary demanded once she and Henry Francis had returned to their lodgings. She had her secretary write a letter to her brother so he could arrange for the arrest of Henry Stuart and whatever other conspirator named by the Earl of Bothwell. "You could have been killed."

"What was I thinking? You just came out on a cold morning wearing next to nothing," Henry Francis pointed out.

"Do you really think that my appearance is important right now?!" Mary snapped.

"Of course not. I meant you could catch the death of a cold," Henry Francis told her, fighting with himself to remain calm. Mary wasn't who he was angry at and it was clear her anger came from worry over his well being. "Mary, you are with child for goodness sake. What if you become sick and both you and our child die because you were being careless?"

"Careless? Forgive me for being so concerned about my husband being killed by men whose entire purpose for being here was to blow you up!" Mary shouted.

"Thomas and Arthur were with me. I would have been fine," Henry Francis assured her, taking her hand in his. "I was afraid that the guards wouldn't get there in time and they would have succeeded in blowing the house up in which case there was a chance that I could lose both you and our son. I wasn't about to let that happen."

"Sometimes I wonder if you have any sense of self-worth at all," Mary muttered, although she was a bit calmer now.

"Of course I do but if I had to chose between myself and you, I would pick you every time," Henry Francis admitted.

"You are a hopeless man," Mary teased him before placing his hand on her swollen abdomen. "Just be careful, my love, our son needs our father as much as I need my husband."

"I swear I shall always be there for our son," Henry Francis promised her, kissing her lips sweetly.

* * *

** _February 15 1570 _ **

** _England _ **

When the Lord Darnley had attempted to abduct the Queen Mary, he had only been pardoned when his father had begged for leniency. Now not even the Earl of Lennox could prevent the punishment he would receive for the attempted regicide.

The Queen had left his and his fellow conspirators' trials in the capable hands of the Earl of Morey before traveling with her husband to the English court where they were greeted with great cheer.

"Oh my poor boy, are you all right?" Queen Margot asked worriedly, embracing her son as soon as they were away from the prying eyes of the court.

"I am almost a man of twenty, why am I constantly be fussed over as if I were a child," Henry Francis wondered even though he hugged his mother back.

"Maybe because sometimes you act like one. It is not your job to confront criminals especially ones who mean to do you harm," King George admonished his son as his wife hurried over to her daughter-in-law to give the girl the same treatment she had with her son.

"I am not going to hid just because I am a prince instead of a solider," Henry Francis said firmly. "I have a duty to protect my wife and child."

George sighed but decided not to press the issue.

* * *

After speaking with his parents and making sure Mary was settled in her apartments, Henry Francis decided to visit his siblings, wanting to make sure that they had not become frightened by the news of the failed plot against him.

Charles was the first to reach him, practically barreling into his older brother's arms.

"I wish I was older; then I could challenge that Lord Darnley to a duel just like you did and defend your honor," he said determinedly.

Henry Francis could not help but smile at his brother's righteous fury, touched by his loyalty. His sisters were not so touched.

"He's been going on and on about how he would love to go to Scotland and teach the Earl of Lennox a lesson. It took us nearly thirty minutes to remind him that he's still a child and hasn't yet learned how to use a real sword," Annette huffed annoyed.

"Well I should learn. Harry is my brother and I want to be by his side, facing whatever challenge he faces united like the brothers of York!" Charles proclaimed.

"Er, Charles, how far are you in your history lesson?" Henry Francis asked, slightly teasing.

The younger prince rolled his eyes. "Obviously it won't be exactly the same, Harry. I might have a crocked back like him but I will never be like the Duke of Gloucester or the Duke of Clarence for that matter," he said firmly.

Henry Francis smiled, ruffling his brother's hair before turning the conversation to his sisters, wondering if they were excited to be aunts in just a few months.

* * *

** _February 28 1570 _ **

Elizabeth did not consider herself a vein woman but there were times when the power of being in charge of the Council of Wales and the Marches went to her head and she felt she was the queen of her own country.

"Queen Elizabeth does have a nice ring to it," Robert laughed when she told him.

"Hush before someone overhears and tells my brother that I am plotting against him," Elizabeth hissed but her playful tone contradicted her harsh words.

"I think King George trusts you too much to listen to such nonsense," Robin assured her, taking her hand and kissing it. "Besides you are a queen of something: my heart."

"Even now that I am old and scarred from smallpox," Elizabeth teased him. She frowned when she lifted her free hand to her cheek where her makeup concealed her scars.

Robert grimaced at the mention of the smallpox epidemic that had carried off his older brother, one of his sons and almost his wife. "You look as lovely as you did when we were married nearly twenty years ago."

Elizabeth smiled at her husband as her thoughts turned to what could have been. Twenty years ago, she would have either been married to either Erik of Sweden or Fredrick of Denmark, becoming queen to either a madman or a womanizer.

Neither of them would have treated her as her Robin did and she doubted she would have been as happy as she was now.

What was better to be a queen in an unhappy marriage or a duchess in a happy marriage? As Elizabeth was concerned it was the latter.

* * *

** _June 19 1570 _ **

** _Scotland _ **

King George and Queen Margot had not wanted to miss the birth of their first grandchild so they traveled to Edinburgh Castle so they could join the Scottish court is celebration of this wondrous day.

The Scottish courtiers and the English courtiers were mingling nicely, any arguments were smoothed over quickly. God willing, this was a sign that the two countries would be able to coexist as one nation peacefully.

When her daughter-in-law went into labor, Queen Margot acted as though she was a lady-in-waiting, wiping the swear from Mary's forehead and whispering words of comfort in her ears.

"You are doing very well," Margot assured her, clasping her hand with Mary's hand. "Just a few more pushes and you will have a baby to hold and love." She didn't say son, not wanting Mary to feel pressured, making her already difficult job harder. "

There was a bark and all of a sky terrier poked his head from under the sheets, surprising his mistress and the other ladies of the birth chamber.

Despite being in considerable pain, Mary laughed. "I once said that Skye was the only one I could count one and here he is, eager to prove his loyalty," she jested, using her free hand to pet his head.

There was no time to remove the little dog as Mary had only two more pushes before the baby came into the world.

"What is it?" Margot inquired rushing over to see her grandchild as the midwife gave the baby's bottom a sharp slap, freeing the air from his lungs.

"Her Majesty has given birth to a healthy son!" the midwife announced before hurrying to clean the child up.

"A prince for both England and Scotland!" another woman exclaimed.

Margot beamed at her grandson, eagerly taking him from the midwife and walking slowly over to her daughter-in-law, greedily studying the baby, committing his features to memory.

She gently laid him in his mother's arms, making sure to kiss his dower forehead before letting him go.

Mary smiled lovingly at her son, the boy who would one day rule over the continent of Britain. King James the First of England and Ireland and the sixth of Scotland.

Her father had lamented that his dynasty would leave end with a lass just as it had started with one but surely even he would be happy that his grandson would be the start of what one day could be an empire.

She just hoped that he would prove to be as prudent as his grandfather when it came to politics and religion.

"Make way for the King of Scots!" a herald called out moments before Henry Francis strode into the room, grinning widely. He made his way to Mary's side, waving off the maids who tried to remove Skye from the bed. "I take it, he was reluctant to leave you in your time of need."

"The best part is knowing even realized he had gotten in here until he poked his head from under the sheets," Mary informed him, using her free hand to pat the dog's head before returning her hand to her son much to the dog's displeasure.

"If only I could have snuck in here as well," Henry Francis said regretfully. "Then I too could have brought you comfort."

"Your mother and my ladies help enough," Mary assured him. "Besides any pain I went through was well worth it for it got me our son."

"He is such a handsome boy. A true Stuart as well as a Tudor," Henry Francis declared, stroking his son's head. "You did very well sweetheart. I don't think there will be a single person in our kingdoms who will be unhappy tonight."

That was a bit of a stretch and both of them knew it. There were those who did not like the idea of Scotland and England being joined together under one ruler. And some who did not like the religious settlement and would prefer a Catholic heir or perhaps even an heir who didn't have a Catholic mother.

However now was not the time for such unpleasantness. Not when they had so much to celebrate.

Prince James was the start of a new future, a golden age for the two kingdoms.

* * *

** _September 30 1574 _ **

** _England_ **

Fifteen days ago, Queen Marguerite had died of a stroke and King George had not left his rooms, not even having the strength to get out of his bed. At first it was just grief but when he began to complain how hot he was, the royal physician realized that he had a fever.

The fever grew worse and it soon became clear that the King would not live to his forty-sixth birthday.

In a way King George was grateful that he would not have to remain king without his beloved wife by his side. 

His children's futures were all secured. Henry Francis and Queen Mary were married and had a son. Annette was married to the King of Navarre (a part of George hoped his daughter would also become the Queen of France like her mother had wanted). Madeline and Bess would soon be married to their own husbands. As for Charles, who had been created the Duke of Somerset and he would marry a daughter of an Irish lord in hopes it would work to improving diplomatic relations with Ireland.

Like his father before him, George felt that his country was secure enough to leave it in the capable hands of his son. So he closed his eyes and waited eagerly to reunited with his beloved Margot.

* * *

** _October 1 1575 _ **

"My brother is a devoted husband," Edward remarked. "He refused to allow death part him with his queen."

"Father!" Owena exclaimed aghast that he would make a joke at a time like this.

"No, no, I think we needed to hear that," Henry Francis assured his cousin as his aunt comforted his younger sisters and his brother. "Although it grieves me to know that both of my parents have been taken so suddenly, knowing that they are together makes me feel a little bit better."

"At least they will be watching over us in heaven," Elizabeth assured her nieces and youngest nephew.

"I think I should go continue writing," Edward declared, his tone now somber. "Whenever a writer has strong emotions bubbling up in them, they should always write it down. I think I'll write a poem in his honor: King George the Peacemaker."

Owena quickly followed her father outside.

"Are you all right, Franny?" Elizabeth asked, looking over at her older nephew.

"I have to be, don't I? Did Father break down when his father died?" Henry Francis asked, trying not to sound as devastated as he felt.

The Duchess of Pembroke did not reply, she just gave him a pitying look.

For six years, all Henry Francis had was his parents. Even when they became King and Queen, they still managed to find time for him. And then in flash he had lost them both.

* * *

** _February 8 1587 _ **

"How are things in Scotland, dear niece? Is James progressing well on the council?" Elizabeth asked as she and Mary walked through the garden.

"Very well," Mary answered. "I have no doubt my advisors are hoping I shall abdicate the throne so they may keep him in Scotland."

"You'd think by now they'd learn to share," Elizabeth jested.

"Well in all fairness, Wales is being run by a very capable woman where I must split my time between Scotland and England," Mary pointed out.

Upon his father's death, just fifteen days after his mother's death, King Henry had decided that he and his wife would be the new Isabella and Ferdinand, making his wife the Queen Regent of England instead of just Queen Consort.

Even though her husband had no right to the Scotland throne, Mary had managed to convinced Scotland to do the same making her husband King Henry the first of Scotland as he was the ninth of England.

"That is true but I love my great-nephew so much that I wish to see him as often as I can," Elizabeth remarked.

"And he loves you in return," Mary assured her, finding herself smiling at Elizabeth who had become more of a sister than an aunt to her over the years.

Together they walked in the garden, arm-in-arm.

* * *

** _March 17 1587 _ **

"I have done it!" Edward proclaimed. "Nephew, I have done it!"

"What have you done, Uncle," Henry Francis inquired, stopping so the Duke of York could reach him without having to shout at his groom to hurry it up.

"I have finished my masterpiece!"

"The epic detailing the history of the Tudors?" Henry Francis asked curiously, his brow furrowing in confusion as he had thought his uncle was only half of the way through with it.

"No, I mean the play I was writing. You know the one where any similarities to real life is completely coincidental," Edward explained with a smile.

"Of course, uncle, of course," Henry Francis replied, struggling not to laugh.

"I have even found an apprentice playwright. He's going to help me finish my epic and he will star in my play," Edward continued. "I tell you this boy has much talent. He has actually written a few plays himself."

"Well I shall look forward to meeting him. After all anyone who has the Duke of York's stamp of approval is obviously someone to take note of," Henry Francis said.

"His name is William Shakespeare and he will be eagerly awaiting for your summons," Edward assured him. "Now my creative mind is whirling a mile a minute so I must ask to take my leave of you."

As Henry Francis watched his uncle be wheeled away, he couldn't help but think how young and carefree his uncle was despite now being over fifty-years-old. After everything that happened, the Duke of York still smiled.

Without the guiding hand of his father, King Henry Francis found himself grateful that he had both his uncle and his aunt at his side. Although he also had his wife and brother, he sometimes felt that without them, he would have cracked under the reins of ruling.

Henry Francis went into his audience chamber, knowing that his brother would soon arrive for his audience.

"The Duke of Somerset," the herald announced as Charles walked into his brother's private audience chamber less than fifteen minutes later.

"Charles, it is good to see you!" Henry Francis greeted him cheerfully, throwing his arm around his shoulders. "How are my nephews and how is Ireland?"

"Ireland, you mean the country you sent your brother to despite knowing how bad the political climate was and knowing how I am hot-tempered. If I was a suspicious man, I would think you did it, hoping I would fail," Charles told him, his eyes narrowed.

"Charles, yes you have a temper but you also have a shrewd mind and with father marrying you to Ellice O'Neill that much like Thomas Howard, you would improve relations with my Irish subjects," Henry Francis reminded him.

"Unlike the Countess of Orkney's husband, I am not an ambassador, you sent me to rule people who are not happy with the Tudor's conquest of Ireland especially when they are mostly Catholic."

"Which despite being raised Prosatant, you are," Henry Francis reminded him. It had been quite a scandal when the Duke of Somerset had declared that he had converted to Catholicism. Despite the religious settlement started by King George, Catholics and Protestants were still at each other's throats. However, Henry Francis trusted his brother completely as much as he trusted his wife.

"Perhaps the only reason I haven't crossed swords with those stubborn louts," Charles continued.

"Charles, what is the matter?" Henry Francis asked, knowing full well that his brother hadn't just wanted to see him to complain.

"Ireland has a rich culture that is constantly being threatened by Englishmen trying to force their culture and ways on Ireland. Father worked hard to make sure that Scotland understood that they would not be forced to become England anymore than England would become Scotland. If you want peace in Ireland, we must do the same. Allow them to do thing their way without their lands being taken from them by Englishmen," Charles implored him.

"And what if they continue to flaunt our authority, should we just let them?" Henry Francis inquired.

"Then I shall live up to my moniker as the ill-tempered duke," Charles assured him, clapping him on the back. "I am your brother first, you know. Whether it be Spain or Ireland, I shall fight in your name."

At first the threat of Spain had been naught but speculation based on King Phillip's character and his son being a Catholic heir of the house of Tudor. But once England had joined forces with the Dutch Rebellion, the Angelo-Spanish aggression had become more heated and war was becoming a certainty.

* * *

** _July 6 1587 _ **

"Singeing the King of Spain's Beard is what some people are calling it," Prince James reported with a smirk. "I'd say Sir Francis will arrive in England to a hero's welcome."

"If my father was alive, Sir Francis would be receiving a very cold welcome home for provoking the King of Spain," Henry Francis told him gruffly, not sharing his son's views over the situation.

"I suppose Grandfather thought peace was better than war," the seventeen-year-old remarked, sounding doubtful.

"My father, God rest his soul, made sure every one of my tutors drilled into my head what the cost of each war was. War doesn't sound so glorious when you knew how much money and men were lost in each one," Henry Francis snapped, before letting out a heavy sigh. "Forgive me, James, I seem to be in a bad mood today."

"It's all right, Father, I suppose all this war talk has you on edge," James said, sympathetically. "It was bound it happen eventually. With the Pope backing Prince Ferdinand's claim to England, the Catholics are hoping that soon England will once again be under Rome's thumb." To his surprise, his father laughed at that. "Did I say something amusing?"

"It just occurred to me if it weren't for the Bishop of Rome, I wouldn't be here in the first place."

There was some delicious irony in all of this. Spain, with backing from the Pope, was attacking England in the name of his aunt's son. Aunt Annette would never have been born if it weren't for Pope Clement deciding to retaliate against Charles of Spain's attack on Rome.

Had Pope Clement not decided to give his grandfather an annulment, King Henry and Anne Boleyn would never have had his father who wouldn't have married his mother and had him.

Everything that had happened from King George, to England and Scotland united to the reformation would not have happened if it weren't for Pope Clement, deciding to punish the Emperor by giving King Henry an annulment.

How could Henry Francis have anything against Catholicism when the head of the Catholic Church had started the events that led to him being born and then becoming the King of England and the husband of the Queen of Scots?

God's will really did work in mysterious ways.

* * *

**By the by, Margot and George's second son is based off of RL Margot's son with the Duke of Savoy. **  
**King John of Sweden's section was one that I could have left out but I wanted to show that because Mary managed to wise up and be far more pragmatic, her son chose the same path. That and I thought it was sort of sweet to show that there was something aside from her mother who was compleatly devoted her. **  
**I am sorry that I had Anne's death be off-screen. Originally she was to die the same day as Carlos and it was supposed to be a hint that someone had poisoned them both but I felt like if I did that, leaving it unsolved would be a rather cheap ending. Also you'll notice that I mention that Infante Carlos had a daughter and yet her uncle was her father's heir. As far as I know Aragon was only female friendly if their were no males at all to inherit while Castile was different. I'm just gonna assume that no one would want a repeat of what happened with Joanna and her father so it was easier for Infante Ferdinand to become King of Spain and Portugal. Speaking of Joanna of Spain, as far as I know her husband had no claim over Spain and yet he is listed as King Philip the First of Spain and so I figured if he was able to do that, Henry Francis should be King of Scotland in the same way. **  
**As an aside that I was sorely tempted to put in the story as an epilogue, thanks to the fact that Ferdinand and his wife were not closely related, their children managed to starve off the decline of the Hasburg rulers of Spain for at least a hundred years. **  
**Also yes Edward did eventually publish both of his works and yes in his play the characters are based off of George and his court for no other reason than Edward thought it was funny. Also he and Elizabeth will eventually live together when they outlive their spouses. **  
**Spain will attack England as they did in history and just like history the armada will get lost because of a storm which by coincidence is what kicked off this story's plot in the first place. **


End file.
